Living by the book
by GildaMulberry
Summary: Begins in S. 2 / Episode 8 as Richard leaves for London. Both Richard and Camille go through some emotional turmoil while he's gone and wonder about the future. Both of them look for advice in different places. Rated 'M' for late chapters. Published before on AO3
1. Worries and Thoughts

**Living by the book**

Chapter 1

Worries and thoughts

Camille Bordey was sitting on the steps of her boss's beach shack, following a departing plane with her eyes and blinking back the tears as she watched it disappear. He was gone – and now what? She was somewhat surprised about how forlorn she felt – as if someone had cut off one of her limbs, she thought. Then, realising how dramatic that sounded, she snorted and reached into her pocket to retrieve a handkerchief so she could blow her nose and come back to her senses. He'd laugh if he knew about her thoughts. Or maybe he wouldn't – maybe he'd make a piercing remark or go off on one of his rants and tell her she was exaggerating or blowing things out of proportion. It wouldn't be the first time that he'd give her a piece of his mind.

And really, he'd be right to tell her off – after all, he'd only be gone for a week, and then he'd be back. So, why was she so emotional? In the meantime, she'd be in charge of running the station, and that was a thrilling prospect. She knew very well that she would be able to do it to everyone's satisfaction. She wasn't so keen on the paperwork connected to it, but she knew that she had the ability to be concise and to-the-point in her statements, and so she wasn't afraid of that part of it. Having the responsibility for the station was going to be fun. Really, why worry that he was gone? To a certain extent it was even exciting that she got the chance to prove herself… to whom in particular she wanted to prove herself, though, was a question she didn't want to examine too thoroughly at this point. She tried to convince herself that it was all for collecting brownie points with the Commissioner – it would look good in her file if she did a good job during DI Poole's absence, even if it was only for a week and it wasn't very likely that a major case would come up. But then again – you never knew… they had phases when they had endless series of petty theft, burglaries and other minor crimes, and then again, there were two murderers within a rather short period of time. You had to be prepared for everything. She liked excitement and diversity. So, in this context it was absolutely ridiculous to hang her head like this. She'd be fine, from a professional point of view.

Obviously, it wasn't the professional aspect that worried her. The thing was… would he come back? That was what was truly bothering her. He didn't seem to intend to leave for good, but then again – he hadn't intended to stay on Saint Marie after the murder of Charlie Hulme was cleared up, either. What if he took his chance to leave now? He had been tricked into staying, and he was fairly upset about it for a while. The Commissioner didn't want to let him go, and his old department in Croydon was way too happy to be rid of him (what a humiliating feeling that must have been for him, Camille thought… but after she had met Doug Anderson over a year ago, she was certain that Richard was far better off with his Saint Marie team than he could ever be with the Croydon team, and she had a notion that he was well aware of that, too), so he had to stay for an entire year. Then the Commissioner tricked him for a second time – he told Richard that he could have his old job back if he re-applied for it, but he only informed him when it was almost too late, anyway… and then Richard couldn't make the required call because he was in the last stage of solving a case, and once that was done, Fidel's wife Juliet had gone into labour so everyone was excited and went to the house to support the new parents – and Richard's phone didn't get a signal from there. So – he missed his chance, and he had to stay on… Come to think about it, he seemed disappointed at first, but Camille felt that once he had accepted it, he seemed to settle in a little better and got more into the island and its positive sides. Or had he just resigned himself to the circumstances – not accepted them? Admittedly, he wasn't good with changes – he liked to live by a routine and do things by the book. So, the Caribbean life was a challenge for him.

However… Although he still complained about sand, heat and bugs, and he had a hard time understanding people's mentality sometimes (sometimes? Most of the time!), his complaints were less elaborate, and he made an effort to be less annoying. Or at least it felt like that… Was it wishful thinking on her side?

Actually, these days, he was so much more human. Well, sometimes, at least. The tears welled up as Camille remembered how he had tried to "be supportive" when her friend Aimee was murdered. He had said some very strange things, but he really, really had tried, and she would never forget this. When she changed his TV stations to French channels, he was clearly unnerved, but he let her get away with it – he chased her down the beach, but it didn't have any serious consequences – they seemed to reach some kind of truce with one another. He never mentioned it again, and she realised now that she had never checked with him if he had been able to track down any British channels. She felt a bit ashamed, but then thought a little rebelliously that if he had wanted her to help with it, he should have asked. Or didn't he have the nerve to do so? He was terribly flustered around women… although he seemed to be more comfortable with her now than in the beginning of their cooperation. Well, that wasn't really a surprise, given the fact that they had had a really rocky start… neither of them had been happy to work with the other one, she even had to give him a dressing-down so he'd realise she wasn't just his maid-for-all-trades, but his partner - and considering all the arguments they had at first, they were doing rather well now.

When they recently got stranded in the weather station during the "almost hurricane", he opened up a little and gave her an unguarded glimpse into his personality, and when earlier this year – for the Erzulie festival – she had accidentally believed that he was the blind date that her mother had set up for her, she was excited at the prospect to spend the evening with him and get to know him from another side. She was disappointed when it turned out he just was waiting for Fidel to pick him up so he could babysit Rosie, and she did not want him to leave – and she resented the poor chap who had been her real date. Not that she let this guy feel that – after all it wasn't his fault – she was friendly with him, and they actually had had a nice enough evening - but she really, truly was crestfallen that she didn't get to spend the evening with Richard.

For a while she refused to take a closer look at her own feelings and didn't dare to analyse her emotions - she had told herself that it was all because they had just solved a rather upsetting case that made them both think, and she would have liked to discuss it further with him and ease the dark feelings that had come over her during the investigations. If she was honest with herself, though, that was only a pretext. She wanted to spend the evening with him because she felt there were sparks between them, and she had the impression that he was also sorry to leave… He had told her that she looked stunning, and the look in his eyes was definitely one of interest, perplexity and… a streak of something else she didn't quite find a notion for. She wished she had a better idea about his feelings. But he was so tight-lipped about anything that concerned emotions. She respected his inhibitions, had an idea of what his pet peeves were, and she certainly knew how to wind him up. He was a genius in his profession, and she had learnt a lot from him. His feelings, however, were off-limits – they were something he just didn't discuss. He clammed up as soon as the conversation got a little more personal. It was not that he was actively withholding information – he was just not sharing his emotions easily. The only times he showed passion was when he went off in a rant about something or when he started a long-winded lecture about some scientific phenomenon – he could get truly excited about that! He was a miracle to her in oh so many ways – and that fascinated her.

The realisation that he was becoming increasingly special and important to her had made her turn down all further attempts by her mother to arrange more blind dates for her. Not that Maman tried to set up blind dates habitually, but it did happen more or less regularly about once a month, and after the Erzulie festival this year Camille had simply refused to humour her mother and play the game anymore. She didn't tell her what the real reason was – that there didn't seem to be any point in going out with other men when she clearly knew she wasn't going to be interested in them, anyway, simply because it was Richard whom she wanted. It was unfair to the men, and it was a waste of everybody's time. Of course, Catherine would not have let her get away with that, so in order to avoid a long lecture from her mother, Camille had just said she needed to live her own life so she could focus on work and her goals there – she definitely wanted no distractions from that – and dates would only bring her confusion and worries, no matter whether they turned out well or not. Catherine wasn't impressed, but she was well aware of Camille's stubbornness – her daughter could be really mulish if you tried to push her into a direction that she didn't want to take. So, for the moment she gave up on her scheme to find Mr Perfect for Camille. She had a suspicion regarding her daughter's lack of interest in new dates, but was wise enough to hold her tongue.

Ah well… And now, Richard was gone. To London – to rainy, cold weather, to the snug in the White Hart, to English TV, to English women, to a slice of his old life and routines - to everything that Saint Marie could not give him. What if he liked it so much that he didn't want to return?

Camille heaved a big sigh, glanced once more into the direction of the dish with the mango she had cut up for Richard's lizard (Harry… of all the names in the world, he came up with Harry! Camille decided that next time she'd have the chance to get a glance of the Royals in the yellow press she'd really have to take a closer look at Prince William's younger brother whom apparently had inspired Richard!), and finally got up. There was no point in sitting around any longer. It was Friday evening, she had other things to do.


	2. Musings and Plans

Chapter 2

Musings and Plans

The flight was coming to an end – soon they would be landing in Heathrow. Richard Poole was excited. He was finally going back to London, after an absence of two long years. Two long years with neverending sunshine (if you didn't count the tropical downpours that came in between), sweltering heat, sand everywhere, outlandish critters, bloodthirsty bugs, earsplittingly loud music, doubtful food, and – maybe worst of all – constantly good-humoured and relaxed people who seemed to do the conga at every occasion.

He wasn't used to all that, he liked it more quiet and civilised (for lack of a better word). He wasn't good with change, anyway, and he had been thrown into this Caribbean madhouse without having a say in it. He didn't understand the rules, and it was driving him up the walls how people undermined his attempts to live his life quietly and by the book. His book, obviously. In hindsight, he realised how silly it had been to try and transfer all his London routines to life on Saint Marie. With time, he learnt to make little compromises. Life was easier that way. Still, he struggled – on some days more than on others, obviously.

As it was, Commissioner Patterson had sneakily tricked him into staying on the island – both initially when the case of who had killed his predecessor had been solved and Richard was ready to go home again, and then again… after the first year was over and he could have had his old job back if Patterson had informed him just a little bit earlier - and he had no choice but grin and bear it. But now… he would go home for a week! Bliss!

Now, granted, it wasn't purely a pleasure trip, he had to escort a sulky and unhappy suspect to hand her over to the British police (fortunately, there was another officer assigned to the project who was now sitting with the suspect while he- Poole – was sitting separately), and that kind of job never was fun. He'd have to sort out a few things with HR as well – that bit worried him a little, however, he decided not to let it bother him at this point. But once that was done and over with, he was free for an entire week.

He hadn't had a holiday in two years. Of course, people might say he was on a constant holiday as he was in the Caribbean. Little did they know. Ah well. It was going to be rainy and cold in London, actually colder than it was in his fridge on Saint Marie. After the scorching heat that would be such a relief! He'd feel human again! For a little while, he reveled in the thought of feeling the drizzle, wearing his raincoat and carrying an umbrella again, then his mind wandered off to the other plans he had.

He intended to visit his parents for a day - after all, they hadn't seen each others since he left for the Caribbean. Not that he had any expectations as far as the communication with his parents went… it would be the same thing as usually. His mother would be fussing, and his father would talk about commonplaces – they hadn't had a real conversation in years now. Then, there also was another relative that he hoped to meet, he wanted to do some shopping, and of course, there were a few exhibits and museums that he would like to visit. Not to mention at least one trip to the White Hart where he wanted to sit in the snug and enjoy a pint of beer…

Richard knew very well that he wouldn't have time for all the things he would like to do, but he decided to "play it by ear", as they say, and not plan everything in detail at this point – something he had learnt to do to a certain degree during his stay on Saint Marie. It had been a lesson learnt the hard way – after some frustrating experiences he realised that life (or people!) had a tendency to get into the way of plans and that you just had to deal with the unpredictable every once in a while – and then it was better not to be too obsessed with plans as you'd only end up in disappointment.

So, he had just made a list of things he would like to have time for, then extracted the bullet points that were absolutely necessary. The others were left on a "maybe list", neatly marked with numbers, indicating their priority level. Yes, Richard Poole was just a tiny little bit obsessive-compulsive… but as it usually is, his most unnerving character traits were also his most remarkable qualities. He could be painfully annoying with all his nitpicking and drive everyone including himself up the walls with his hairsplitting habits (no, it wasn't always fun or easy for him, either), but his meticulous manners and love for detail were the keys to his success.

Even his team on Saint Marie acknowledged this after an initial phase of irritation and utter bewilderment with his methodical approach to things. They weren't used to this painstaking way of handling cases. But the successfully solved cases proved that he did something right, and once they had all adjusted to each others and accepted their respective qualities, they worked together efficiently. And he even dared to allow himself to believe that they liked him – they had all been somewhat bemused with his behaviour at first, and his DS, the lovely and very confusing Camille Bordey, never failed to point out that he was a little obscure and needed to "loosen up", but he learnt that it was good-humoured teasing, not merciless malice, and they actually had had some very good times together over the past two years.

Fidel, Dwayne and Camille were indulgent with him – most of the time. He still was more a spectator than a participant when it came to certain activities (like swimming in the sea or walking barefoot on the beach, let alone dancing in the streets), but he had mellowed a little and wasn't so adamantly against suggestions and spontaneous ideas anymore.

He admitted to himself that his team had been patient with him once they realised it was more fear of getting hurt and making a fool of himself than anything else. They just let him be and didn't force him to participate, but they didn't exclude him, either. Initially, he had turned down their offers to get-together after work as he thought they didn't want him around, anyway (after all, he was used to people not wanting him around), but he was hurt that they stopped asking. It was Camille who made him realise that they stopped asking because he had never accepted their invitations – he hadn't seen it from that angle.

Ah, Camille… He furrowed his brow. This was a chapter all of its own. She was a force of nature, if ever he had encountered one. When he tried to solve the murder of Charlie Hulme, she had appeared out of the blue and turned his life upside down… she was the enigmatic woman who popped up in different places, and nobody knew whom she was or what she was doing. She pretended to be Charlie's cleaner when Richard caught her snooping around in the shack, and while she was sitting on his bed (that now belonged to Richard) and crying false tears over his death, he actually couldn't help himself but notice how beautiful she was. He was lenient with her – until he realised she was only leading him on and promptly shifted her into the category of suspects. Then he got pretty upset and did everything to catch her – he was truly convinced she was part of the crime, only to realise eventually that she had been an undercover agent, and by chasing her and putting her into handcuffs, he blew her cover. She had been working on the same case. Had he known that, he would have acted differently, but the way the situation had presented itself, it had only consequent to arrest her and put her into a cell.

He was not amused when the Commissioner showed up and informed him that Detective Sergeant Bordey would work with him in the future. She had made him appear like a complete idiot, and now he was supposed to form a team with her – good grief, that was more than he could bear. It was also more than she could bear as she let everyone know in unmistakable words.

But they had no choice in the end, and after a bit of a rough adjustment phase during which she put him into his place (he simply wasn't used to working with a partner and tended to treat everyone like a lay assistant… she made it very clear, though, that she would not tolerate that sort of behaviour), they actually were a good team as they complemented each others – she was intuitive and had empathy while he was logical and tended to be a bit too unrelenting and almost tactless in his investigations.

She had made him nervous right from the start. He had pretty much given up on women after having been disappointed a couple of times but couldn't help being drawn towards her, no matter how often he told himself he shouldn't fall for her... She was so full of life and energy, and it was hard not to be enchanted by her. She drove him crazy in so many ways. So, with time, she really got under his skin, no matter how hard he struggled not to let her get closer.

There was just something about her that he couldn't quite put his finger on that made her irresistable. Of course, he knew that there were dozens of men worshipping at her feet, and she was quite the flirt – or so it seemed to him at first, but maybe she was just friendly and open – so he didn't want to join the army of her admirers and kept to himself. Plus he was her boss, so nothing but difficulties could come out of it all. And of course (at this point he his lips twitched), he was clearly middle-aged now, he had packed on a few pounds during his stay in the Caribbean, he was losing hair, bugs loved biting him, and his oversensitive fair skin just turned red instead of tanning – there's nothing attractive about that. He knew she thought he had swallowed an umbrella, as the French say, and she had often enough emphasized how infuriating he was. He never seemed to find the right words, and they seemed to argue all the time. He sighed.

And still… recently he had had the feeling that she was making an effort to be more patient with him. They had come to a new understanding over time, and a while ago, on the evening of the Erzulie festival, he got the impression that she actually quite liked the idea of spending time with him. He was not her blind date, as apparently she had assumed when she first came onto the patio where he was waiting to be picked up by Fidel (the younger officer whose wife just had had a baby – Camille's mother had talked Richard into babysitting so Fidel and his wife could spend a romantic evening together), but oh – how he wished he had been… And he had seen a gleam in her eyes that indicated she wouldn't have minded. That had made for a rather restless evening – he was torn between hope and misery.

She drew him out of his shell when they were stuck in the weather station in the night of the "almost hurricane", and he was so tempted to make a move towards her – but he was afraid to jump… what about the possible consequences? So, nothing happened… and that evening, he didn't even know whether he really wanted things to change or if he would be acting on an impulse, but the tension between them was making it hard for him to focus over the next weeks.

Something had to change – he only wished he knew how to induce it and which direction to take. He also was unsure about how much longer his assignment would last – that made it hard for him to commit to anything. And Camille was an unpredictable factor in this puzzle as he knew nothing about her feelings and wasn't sure if he was reading the signs correctly. Surely it had meant something when was so subdued when she heard about his departure. He had noticed that with some confusion. And she had hugged him when she said goodbye – didn't that signify anything?

He decided not to dwell on this topic any longer. It was just causing him a headache. He had a full week in London ahead of him, and he had other things to do than feeling ill and confused over matters of the heart. He'd come to the point where he would have to make a decision, and he hoped that some of what he had planned for this week would help him in that respect.

He sighed once more and shifted in his seat so he could buckle up again for the landing.


	3. Conversations

Chapter 3

Conversations

It was Sunday afternoon. Camille had spent the weekend in her usual manner – she helped her mother in the bar by getting all sorts of supplies and doing extra shopping on Saturday morning – not all stores delivered, so Camille regularly picked up Catherine's orders at a few specific places –, then she had a look into the books just to check if there was anything glaringly wrong going on (Catherine mixed wonderful cocktails, but her book-keeping abilities left a lot to be desired), and in the evening she helped out serving drinks and keeping an eye on the customers. On Sunday morning, she got up early and went for a run – it was way too hot to run during the daytime, so although she loved sleeping in every once in a while, Camille usually chose to rise early on Sundays so she could get a little extra exercise. She needed to keep moving to feel balanced, and unfortunately, she didn't have much time for exercising during the week. She had joined a fitness class on Wednesday evenings recently, and she would have liked to work out more, but she had to be realistic – her tasks at the station didn't always come to an end at the same time, and she never knew when her mother might need her in the bar in the evenings, so it was hard to commit to something, given those circumstances.

After breakfast with Maman, lined with a little bit of general chit-chat about the market and the suppliers where she had picked up groceries and all sorts of necessities, she had visited Aimee at the graveyard. That had become a regular routine. She missed her tremendously. What a trauma it had been to lose her…

Aimee had been one of the very few friends that hadn't settled down as wives and mothers, and it always had been fun to get together with her, though that hadn't happened all that often, given her busy schedule and the trips she had to do for her shows. Most of Camille's schoolmates were married and had kids, and while they still sometimes got together, Camille felt that she didn't quite fit into this circle of women any longer. While she loved children, she didn't find it very interesting to listen to stories about how "little Johnny just started to roll over", "little Celia just began teething" or "the twins have started school just a month ago and already have learnt soooo much", not to mention the discussions about various brands of nappies and baby food. She was the only one who had left Saint Marie for a longer period of time, lived overseas and got training there, who had gone the professional route – and who had returned to her home island eventually. Two or three of her schoolmates had moved to the US or to Europe for their studies, but they never had come back.

So, Camille was the odd one out in every respect, and while it didn't bother her most of the time, it was a little lonely at other times. She and Aimee had had a special bond, and when it was cut off, Camille suffered miserably. Of course, if Aimee's plans to move to Florida for her career had materialised, they would have been separated as well, but it obviously would have been different.

It had become a habit to go to the graveyard every Sunday, and sometimes Camille found herself talking to Aimee – not aloud, but in her head. It was like a silent conversation between the two of them. She found that strangely comforting – at first it had seemed a little morbid, but now that several months had passed, it had become a regular part of her life, and she didn't question it any longer whether or not it made sense to talk to someone who was dead. She felt that Aimee was listening and perhaps giving her little signs – and that meant that she wasn't gone completely.

Today, she had briefly broached the subject of Richard's departure and her worries that he might not come back. And she had asked Aimee if she was a fool to pine for a man who didn't know how to show emotions. Aimee had teased her for not going on blind dates anymore after the Erzulie festival – Camille hadn't intended to tell her about Richard, but Aimee was no fool – upon being told about the evening, she had guessed that Camille would have loved to go out with him and realised that her friend was going through the tortures of the lovelorn as she just couldn't quite fathom Richard's feelings for her. She had never met Richard. A fact that now made Camille sad.

Standing at the grave, she hadn't dared to go into the subject too deeply as she didn't trust herself – she might get carried away and begin to cry as it had happened while she was sitting on the steps of the shack – but she had come up with a few reflections that went around in circles in her head. She had thought back to the day of Aimee's death and how helpless and devastated she had felt during the following days. Much of it was a blur now, but she knew that she had not been of much use in the investigations, she had been too impulsive and upset, and in her sadness and urgent desire to find the murderer, her judgement had been clouded, so she had overreacted.

Richard had been… oh well, let's face it: he had been awkward. No, really… He had been unbelievably awkward, more so than ever before, and it had upset her at first. But then she had realised that he was just not used to expressing emotion – other than anger or frustration, as he could show in his endless rants about the least little things. He had been trapped in his own insecurities – he wanted to be compassionate, but at the same time he didn't want her to feel pitied – he knew that pity wasn't what she needed or wanted. He didn't want to invade her privacy, either. Given his social skills – or rather, his lack thereof – it had been really, really hard for him to find words at all, and for her, it had been a challenge to hear him out when he turned to talk to her in his stumbling, incoherent manner. But then the murderer had been caught, and she had been so grateful. It couldn't bring Aimee back, but at least she knew that justice would be done.

And it had been so sweet how he had said that he had wanted to help and support her – his speech had been halting, as it always was when emotional matters came up. He was a brilliant speaker when it came to professional things, but in personal matters, that was completely different. It had touched her to the core how hard he had tried to overcome his apprehension and how he had actually been scrambling for words. He had mentioned how difficult it was to tell people how important and special they were. She had an inkling that he was referring to his feelings for her – but she hadn't dared to dig deeper. So, instead she had just said something like "I've never heard you talk like that before".

She might have come up with something more insightful and less inane if she hadn't been so devastated, but well, she had just lost her friend, so anybody with half a brain would realise that she wasn't in a particularly bright state. She had regretted her earlier outburst towards him - that he didn't know how she felt because he had no friends and all that – she had known that she had hurt him. She had seen the look in his eyes. But much to her relief, it had turned out quickly that he didn't bear a grudge – he had understood. He was a strange, strange man (she could feel that Aimee would agree with that – it was pretty much stating the obvious, after all).

That evening had been a weird mix of grief over Aimee's death, relief that her murderer had been found and arrested, comfort found in Richard's nearness (and he had sat really close to her – although it clearly was uncomfortable for him to sit on that log of driftwood – or had it been the jitters because he was not used to being physically close to a woman?) and the small, timid hope that he'd work up the nerve to make a move towards her. Not now, not yet, not in this moment – but hopefully in the future.

Now, months had gone by, and they had not come one step farther. Right, there had been a few fleeting moments when they seemed to be totally in sync, and they certainly bickered a lot less than before. But that was not progress – or was it? Could it be that he just didn't know what she wanted? Or maybe he did – but didn't want the same (embarrassing thought!)… Or he just had no idea how to approach her? Was he cowed by her apparent self-confidence? Admittedly, she could sometimes come across as almost brash and impudent. He had seen her flirting with other men. She had even tried to flirt with him very occasionally – and once in a blue moon he flirted back, only to get completely flustered then. Did he think that she was only playing games? And had she completely put him off by hugging him on his departure day?

Camille wasn't usually so unsure of herself, but this man had really unsettled her. She had not got involved in any serious relationships since her return from France to Saint Marie – at first, her undercover job had just made it too difficult, then she had been trying to find her feet at work (which seemed so bland after the excitement and uncertainty of the undercover work), and eventually… well, eventually, she had become too interested in Richard. The funny thing was… at first she had been able to see right through him and read him perfectly well, but the more she fell for him, the less she was able to analyse his behaviour towards her. It had become quite difficult for her to look at his actions and reactions – as far as they concerned her – in an un-emotional manner. "Oh, the joys of being in love…" she thought sarcastically.

"What do you think, Aimee – have I blown my chances with him? Do you think he'll come back and something good will happen between us? Or am I making a fool of myself, and this is all rubbish?"

She felt like a teenager standing at a magic wishing well. It was bizarre how she kept standing there, waiting for an answer. When she was ready to give up and leave, a little bird fluttered up from a headstone near Aimee's grave, and as it merrily flew away, Camille decided that this was a hopeful sign in her book. "Thank you" she murmured, turned around and left.


	4. A Visit at the Library

Chapter 4

A visit at the library

It was a dreadfully cold Wednesday, an awful wind was blowing, and the little elderly lady struggled to open the main door to the public library when suddenly a hand reached over her head and helped her to pull the handle. "Oh, thank you, sir" she chirped. The man in the raincoat just smiled, nodded briefly and held the door open for her, then stepped in after her. Before she could open her mouth again and thank him once more, he had disappeared. For a moment, she wasn't sure if he had actually been there at all. She shook her head in confusion – she had been beginning to see funny things lately. Maybe he was only one of those… but never mind, she was in the library now, and that was all that counted.

Richard had just hopped off the bus when the rain started, and so he was glad that it wasn't far to the library. He saw a tiny old lady struggle with the doorhandle – those push-and-pull doors sometimes were really heavy, and considering how frail the old lady looked, it didn't surprise him that she had a hard time opening the door. He was happy to help out, but after he had spent two days with his parents, his tolerance level for torrents of words had gone below zero, so he didn't wait for her to say thank you – he just nodded and disappeared into one of the aisles between the shelves, passing the alarm system.

As he approached the counter in the children's section, the lady who sat there looked up and said automatically "Please leave your coat in one of the lockers"… then she recognized him, her eyes widened, and with a beaming smile, she exclaimed "Why, Mr Poole – well, that's a surprise! Ms Cooper will be delighted to see you – she's in her office! The poor girl is drowning in work – you know what it's like at this time of the year. It'll do her good to get out of the house for a while and see something else than all those piles of books".

Richard chuckled and answered "Good to see you, Dorothy – and let me tell you, you look splendid!" She waggled her finger at him and said "Ah, charming as always, my boy! I've missed you! You've run off to the Caribbean, as I understand? Must be nice with the sunshine and all… We're always excited to find your postcards in the mail! Brightens our days, you know. So nice of you to think of us! But I won't keep you now – I'm sure you're more keen on seeing Ms Cooper than on chatting with me… so just go ahead!"

He went to the back of the reading room and knocked at the door with the impressive nameplate 'Alison Cooper, Head Librarian'. A tired and absent-minded voice answered "Come in". He opened the door and entered the small but cozy office room – it was full of shelves, the walls were decorated with a mix of children's drawings, impressionistic art prints and a collection of odd postcards on a pinboard, the desk was covered with piles of books, and the chair behind the desk was occupied by a lady in her mid 40s, with short copper-red curls, fair skin and long dangling earrings. A pencil stuck out from behind her ear. Even though he couldn't fully see her face, he noticed that it looked drawn and tired. Without looking up she said drily "If you've come to try and make me extend the loan period for your books, forget about it. I'm not going to save you from paying the fine." Stunned silence, followed by a chuckle and an amused voice saying "Graceful as ever, darling – you haven't changed one bit," made her look up, and with a cry of joy she jumped to her feet to come around and greet him with outstretched hands: "Richard! How on earth… Blimey, is it really you? How wonderful to see you!"

He took her hands into his, squeezing them gently, and replied "What a warm welcome, m'dear… though I'm sad that you're not going to save me from paying the fine". She stopped short, then laughed and said "Oh, I thought it was one of the kids wanting me to help and get them out of a pickle. We have switched to an automatic reminder system recently, and a fine is collected when an overdue book is returned… since that has been introduced, they've been coming to my office in flocks, begging me to help them get away without having to pay. It's dreadful – you know how they can make big innocent puppy eyes and all that. I hate having to collect the money, but well… you know what it's like. So, I try to fend them off by trying to appear all buttoned-up and strict!"

Then, with an arched eyebrow, she continued "But what are you doing here, Richard? I thought you're topping off your tan on that Caribbean island of yours? Are you on holidays? Or has the prodigal son returned home for good? You should have let me know that you're coming – I would have dished up the fatted calf and all that, you know! Or the fatted duck a l'Orange, if you'd prefer that… Oh, it's so good to see you!" With that, she withdrew her hands, just to throw her arms around him and hug him tightly – it obviously didn't matter to her that she got wet as his raincoat was drenched. Granted, his reaction couldn't be called over-enthusiastic, but he didn't turn to stone, either. He just patted her on the back and replied "Thanks – good to see you, too." For his standards, that was an emotional outburst…

Had his team on Saint Marie seen him in this situation, they would have been taken aback and wondered if this was truly their very own Inspector Poole. Literally everyone who knew Richard would have asked themselves the same question – but of course, none of them knew that Alison Cooper was his cousin. Her mother Margaret was his father's sister - and the black sheep of the family. She had been married three times until she gave up on men and decided it all wasn't worth it. She had spent the past years travelling around on the continent, residing alternatively in Italy and the South of France. Alison was her only child, she was from her second marriage, and she had inherited her looks from her father – she was lean and athletic, and being almost two inches taller than Richard, she had very light skin and curly bright red hair – even the most benevolent person could not call it strawberry blond or auburn or whatever euphemism there was out there – that had earned her the nicknames "Tangerine" and "Carrotstick" in her youth. There was only one feature she had inherited from the Poole side of the family – the dazzling green eyes that resembled Richard's.

She pulled back and smiled. Good old Richard – still the same stuffed shirt! He really could be a pain in the neck with his uptight behaviour, but she knew he had a kind and soft side that he hid well behind his rigid façade.

"Look, I don't know about you, but I am starving. What about having lunch together once I've finished this one pile of books? Then we can hit the road and you can tell me all about your adventures!" She moved back to her desk to sit down, and Richard sauntered to her side to see what she was doing. The books on her desk all were children's books that obviously had their best times behind them. Some of them looked awfully grubby, others were literally falling apart, and there were quite a few that fit into both categories. From what he saw, Alison was busy finding second hand copies online to replace the ones she had sitting on her desk.

"You know, these have been loved to death, and I have to replace them" Alison explained. "The thing is, we cannot afford to buy new copies at this point – fundings aren't what they used to be… so I try to get them as cheaply as possible." Richard was appalled, but not surprised to hear this. It was the same everywhere – cutbacks all over, and the need to save, save, save.

Despite the sorry (and unhygienic) state they were in, he took a closer look at the books she had already finished and read some of the titles. "Oh, I see that good old Fungus the Bogeyman is still around?" he remarked. "Yep, and he's one of the kids' favourites… Mind you, I can understand that," said Alison, tapping away on her keyboard. "It's just so outlandish, yet it speaks truth… I mean, come on, I feel like a Bogeyman on some days when I think about the meaning of life and wonder what it's all good for. Actually, we're lucky with Fungus as he was out of print for some years and prices for second hand copies skyrocketed. This has changed when they re-published the book a few years ago – since then you can get decent second hand copies for a reasonable price as people just won't pay as much anymore. Raymond Briggs just is so much fun for the kids. In that context, 'Father Christmas' is another favourite, by the way." Richard chuckled – he had always liked the grumpy old Father Christmas figure in these books – he could just imagine how fed up you get with having to slide down dirty chimneys for your job, and of course, the job itself got very hectic once the countdown to the holidays started as you didn't have much time to get it done…

At random, he picked up another picture book, raising his eyebrows at the title, and said "Now, that looks interesting – 'Princess Smartypants'…" He leafed through it and snorted when he reached the end of it – the pretty princess who didn't want to get married gave her last, abominably perfect suitor Prince Swashbuckle a magic kiss and he turned into a gigantic warty toad. He liked that twist – he'd never been fond of the typical prince / princess stories. There was too much emphasis on being perfect in a superficial way, and the formula of what happiness meant was just too simple – maybe not every girl wanted to sit around, be beautiful and wear a glittering pink dress while she was waiting for Mr Right to show up – who in turn had to be… well, the equivalent to Prince Swashbuckle, someone who could solve every problem and deal with every situation. And maybe not every guy wanted (or was able) to live up to the standard that Prince Swashbuckle set… and that was fine. As far as he saw it, the old saying "It takes all kinds of people to make the world go round" was true.

"Come on, Richard – I'm finished." Alison was amused at how her oh-so-sophisticated and serious cousin flipped through the children's books and obviously enjoyed reading them. As she was slipping into her black raincoat, she said over her shoulder "I promise to give you a couple of recommendations if you are seriously interested!"

* * *

 **Notes:** The books mentioned are "Fungus the Bogeyman" and "Father Christmas" by Raymond Briggs and "Princess Smartypants" by Babette Cole. Check them out – they're worth it.


	5. Fashion, Fitness, Fun

Chapter 5

Fashion, Fitness, Fun

It was Wednesday, and things were quiet at the station. There had been a call about a burglary on Monday very early in the morning, but it had turned out that the teenage son of the residing family had been out with friends until dawn – he had forgotten his key and tried to get in through a window. His parents woke up and heard the noise, so they called the police. When Fidel – who had been on call – and Dwayne arrived at the house, they just found the young man snoring on a sunbed on the verandah. The parents were a little embarrassed, but since their house had been broken into the year before, their worries had been understandable. Apart from that, there were a few incidents on the market, Camille had caught a shoplifter, and Fidel and Dwayne had admonished a few teenage rowdies on the beach… Then, of course, there were the routine tours of the harbour and around town. But other than that, there was only paperwork to do – which got tedious in the long run.

Camille leafed through a glossy magazine that she had picked up at the newsstand on the market this morning. She wasn't a devoted follower of fashion, but she liked to be informed, as she called it. She had settled into her personal style over the past years, she knew what looked good on her and what didn't, and she bought her clothes accordingly. She tended to go for timeless pieces and spiced them up with trendy accessories, and while she enjoyed wearing fashionable things, quality and convenience were more important for her. She was realistic about her life – she wouldn't have any opportunity to wear luxurious long dresses by the dozen, so whether or not she liked them didn't really matter – there was no point in stuffing her wardrobe with them. It was enough to have two or three good long dresses, and other than that, her closet was filled with tops, trousers and skirts in different lengths and a variety of dresses for the occasional party or festival.

Her real weakness were shoes – but then again, she tried to be reasonable about this as well and didn't buy just any pair of shoes that she liked. She didn't have half as many pairs of high heels now as she had owned while she had lived in Paris. It just wasn't practical as she could only wear them on special occasions – for work, she needed flat shoes or sandals as she walked a lot, stood around at crime scenes or had to be quick on her feet when she had to outrun some kid who was pilfering at the market stalls. And on the beach, sandals and flip-flops obviously were better, too – shoes she could take off quickly so she could feel the sand beneath her feet and the water between her toes.

Still, it was nice to see what was "in" at the moment, so every once in a while, she enjoyed buying a fashion magazine – her "picture books", as she called them.

One of her favourites was "Amina". It was in French, and it covered other topics besides fashion, general celebrity chat and the inevitable self-help rubbish, but it hadn't been available this morning, so she had settled for something else. "Amina" was different, but the others all looked alike, anyway. As she had time on her hands, she looked through the magazine leisurely – she knew she couldn't have done that if Richard had been there. He worked so hard himself that you had a bad conscience if you didn't do the same, and if things were slow, he'd find work – and he expected you to do the same. Camille realised that they were a lot more productive when he was around, no matter if there was a murder to solve or not. Even the petty things got done when Richard was there as he just expected everyone to take care of them. Well, that was food for thought. She would have to try harder to be more efficient – but not now. Now she'd enjoy her magazine.

However, somehow that didn't happen today. It was as if everything rubbed her the wrong way. She read the caption of an article that apparently encouraged "the modern woman of today" (whoever that was, as she thought sarcastically) to wear whatever style suited her and not become a victim of the latest fashion trend – and on the next page, they promoted the most recent "must-haves" that you had to have in your wardrobe if you wanted to be in style. "Good grief, how hypocritical they are – so much for finding one's own style" she muttered.

"Huh?" said Dwayne as he passed by her desk on his way to the fridge to get a bottle of water. He glanced at the magazine. "That girl gives me the creeps!" he exclaimed. "Is that a table runner sort of doily she's wearing?" he asked curiously. "No, that's the latest stylish must-have, apparently…" Camille wrinkled her nose and said "I can't claim I like it very much, either. Do you think it would look good on me?" "Nah… it wouldn't look good on anyone!" was Dwayne's clear reply. He snatched the magazine and leafed through it before Camille could prevent it.

"Seriously, Camille – all that stuff looks hideous. Why are you even looking at that! Those girls all look like they are going to starve if you don't give them something to eat rightaway. I don't know why the fashion industry has this idea of presenting their stuff on girls that are so thin. I mean, you are already really slim, but at least you look healthy. The girls in here just look ill and sad. They all need a huge hamburger and a cocktail, and maybe a party so they could have some fun!"

Before Camille could reply to this, the phone rang, and the next thing she knew was that Fidel and Dwayne had left to go and interrogate a victim of domestic violence.

They meant well by taking care of the case, and it was actually really just routine work at this stage, but being by herself at the station at this point gave Camille too much time to ponder the recent conversation, and given her slightly shaken self-confidence at the moment, she couldn't help but wonder if Dwayne wanted to say she was too thin.

She remembered the occasions where she had caught Richard ogling other women – they all had more flesh on their bones than she did. Not to mention their impressive chests. She couldn't compete with that, that much was sure. Usually, it didn't bother her – but recently, she had been a bit more self-conscious – and it hadn't helped that her mother had raised her eyebrows when Camille had ordered another sports bra upon signing up for her fitness class… Catherine's face betrayed her before she actually opened her mouth to ask "Do you really think you need one?" Camille had not been happy with this. All right, she was no Jayne Mansfield, but it was not that she was as flat as an ironing board, either.

While Richard was not oblivious to women's assets, he had never ogled her – at least not that she had noticed. He had looked at her approvingly on various occasions – admittedly, he had said she looked stunning in one situation - but that was about it. Did that mean he wasn't attracted to her after all, and she just had imagined it? He had claimed that he didn't have a "certain type" – what if he did, and she didn't fit the picture? And what if it didn't matter at all because he decided he didn't want to come back after all?

She panicked for a moment. Then she realised she was behaving like a schoolgirl, shook her head in frustration and dismissed the thought. It was pointless to entertain sentiments like that – first and foremost, he had promised to come back; secondly, she couldn't and didn't want to change her body, anyway; and finally, she was too old to worry about stupid things like this. But it kind of struck her then how differently people defined and perceived beauty. To her, beauty was clearly something that came from inside – it didn't have much to do with actual looks. Inspirational people were beautiful. "Human" people were beautiful. Kind people were beautiful. Of course, it helped to have a friendly face, good proportions, pretty hair and all that – and she knew she wouldn't be attracted to a man who didn't look after himself. But a man didn't have to be an Adonis to be attractive.

Well, if that was how she felt, chances were that there'd be men out there who didn't look for a voluptuous Venus – or an Aphrodite, if you wanted to stay in the realm of Greek mythology - and with some luck, Richard might be one of them. He wasn't a complete idiot, after all. Miraculously, this thought cheered her up, and she finally turned to her neglected pile of paperwork.

Eventually, it was time to close the station and call it a day. Camille yawned – it had been a somewhat dull day. With Richard being gone, she didn't even have any chance to engage in provocative conversations or play pranks. It just was no fun without him. Even Dwayne said that he missed the Chief – "you wouldn't believe how you can miss this sour face of his" were his words. On the other hand, they were spared his endless complaints about the heat, the slow internet connection or the bugs eating him alive – admittedly, they didn't miss that in the least.

Checking her watch, Camille realised that time would be a little tight for her – she still had to feed Harry before her class started. So, she shoved the offensive magazine into her desk drawer – maybe she could enjoy it more at another time -, gathered her things and zoomed off. Not that Harry could tell the time, but she didn't want to keep him waiting, anyway.

On her way back from the beach, she stepped onto the accelerator with more intensity than necessary… She was running late! She didn't particularly like organized classes, but she had realised that she needed to get out of the house (and away from her mother's bar and her sometimes rather prying eyes) and get more exercise, and a class like that was the perfect solution – it killed two birds with the same stone. Not that she didn't want to spend time with her mother or at the bar – or combine both – but it was all getting a bit old, and she thought it would be nice to see other people every once in a while. Plus, she had had to admit to herself that it would perhaps be a good thing to do something different for a change. Running was good and well, but coordination, posture and all that were important, too.

The class took place in a hall at the convent – they rented it out to bring in some extra money – because the local gym's facilities were too small for the large group of women that had signed up. It was interesting to see the quiet and graceful Sister Marguerite in her inconspicuous garments unlock the door for all the ladies in their skimpy sports attire who were giddily chattering away with anticipation – what a contrast, indeed! The instructor was a lady in her late 30s, and she came up with something different each Wednesday – so you never knew what would happen. That was part of the fun for Camille as she liked the variety of exercise she got. Sometimes the classes were more challenging for her than at other times, but overall, it did her good, and she enjoyed going regularly.

When Camille arrived as one of the last in the group, the instructor gave her a flashing smile as she plugged in the huge stereo set that must have been a remainder from the stone ages. "Hi Camille, what's up? You look tired!" "Ah, you'll pep me up in no time, Val!" was Camille's cheerful reply. She didn't want to let on that the past few days had been somewhat taxing for her – she was almost angry at herself for worrying so much. Well, it was only two more days. She'd find out soon enough whether or not he'd be back, and everything else… just remained to be seen.

She tied up her hair, put on her sneakers and got in line as the first beats of the music filled the air. Zumba – that was precisely what she needed tonight. She threw back her head and began to dance. It didn't bother her that she didn't get all the movements right the first time – she just enjoyed moving and having fun. And as the rhythm took over and the steps just fell into place, she felt how the dark cloud of her self-doubts and worries lifted. Everything would be all right.

* * *

 **Notes:** "Amina" is a monthly French-language woman's magazine aimed at black women in Africa, Europe, the Antilles and North America. It was founded in 1972 and is headquartered in Paris. (Quoted from Wikipedia) – I chose this because it's less superficial than a lot of the other magazines that are out there. I think that Camille sees herself first and foremost as French, but she's got Caribbean heritage and is aware of that as well, so this seemed like a good pick.


	6. Family Ties & Catching Up

Chapter 6

Family Ties and Catching Up

Alison and Richard hadn't really spent much time together as children – they both went to their respective boarding schools, so they only saw one another at family gatherings every once in a while. With Alison being a few years older than him, there hadn't been much of a connection, anyway, although they always got on pretty well when they met. Maybe the reason was that both of them stuck out like sore thumbs during their school days – Alison with her striking looks, her height, and her unpopular interests (nobody cared for reading Jane Austen back then, and while everybody else in class was bored to tears, Alison read all her books unprompted by her teachers and then indulged in her newly-found love for the classics by exploring George Eliot, Dickens, Trollope and all the other writers that were considerd dead-boring by her class mates), and Richard with his scholastic achievements, his cleverness and his social awkwardness. Both were loners and outsiders, and both had had to develop strategies to induce respect from others.

As they got older, their paths separated even further – Richard went to Cambridge, Alison finished her degree in Literature and moved to Wales to attend the Library College in Aberystwyth and become a librarian. She worked in Manchester for a while, but got bored there, applied for positions in the capital and landed a job as librarian in the children's department of the public library where she still worked now. When the head of department retired, she got promoted – that had happened shortly before she and Richard met again. It was not until they bumped into each other at a classical concert in London that they got back in touch. Since then, they had discovered that they had the same dry sense of humour, and they shared the love for classical music, literature and other cultural things. They went to museums and exhibits together, when the opportunity came up every once in a while, and usually, they had a good time. They also had heated arguments sometimes, but Alison knew how to deal with a self-opinionated Richard, and eventually, they often just agreed to disagree. That worked fine for them.

It was not that Richard had ever been very chatty with her when it came to his emotions – that just wasn't how he was wired. It just was nicer for him to spend time with Alison every once in a while than do literally everything on his own. And she didn't ask any curious questions, make inappropriate remarks or poke around in his privacy, she just accepted that he didn't want to talk about anything personal. She wasn't keen on people asking her nosey questions, either, so she understood.

That kind of acceptance was just what he needed after the turbulent years at university… he had had a couple of short-lived flings then (yes, some girls had indeed fancied him), and a small group of friends… One of his friendships with a girl in his clique had become fairly serious – at least from his side – and he had even considered taking it further. Then, however, the girl in question married someone else in their circle of friends. Richard was devastated. He obviously had misread the signs she had been sending. How could he have been so wrong?

He was terribly hurt and couldn't get over it for a long time. Eventually, he came to terms with it, but he felt that Aunt Margaret was right – it wasn't worth it, and he'd be better off on his own. He had always been a bit of a loner, but this experience paved the way for his future life – it was mostly about work, a few hobbies that he could do by himself (things like running, listening to music, reading, going to museums and concerts, solving puzzles and crosswords – and the like). The outings with Alison were fun – she was good company. Their conversations sometimes helped him to find a new perspective and understand certain communication mechanisms a little better. He tended to be very literal, and Alison had shown him that there were many other ways to see things than only his own. That had been a very valuable insight for his job – it made his investigations deeper and less one-tracked, and it made him a better detective. She never tried to match him up with anybody – she didn't think there was anything wrong with him and just let him be. That was a very pleasant change from all the people who thought the exact opposite and made him feel like an outcast.

Over the last few months on Saint Marie he wished he'd have an opportunity to talk to her. Very rarely in his life had he felt the need to get advice – usually, he figured things out by himself. But his current situation was different. He was not entirely sure how he'd bring up the topic that bothered him – he wasn't even sure if he wanted to do it at all given the fact that he felt rather stupid about his own inability to cope with the situation, but he felt that if anybody could help him out of his dilemma, then it would be Alison.

It was not that they didn't keep in touch – they e-mailed from time to time, but it was always about general things, about work, about the weather, about current events, a joke and some banter here and there… and the e-mails never were very long – a paragraph or so. So, when Richard learnt that he'd be going to the UK for a week, he was determined to take the time to see his cousin so they could catch up on their respective news… and maybe there'd be a chance to broach a particular subject that he couldn't quite get his head around.

As they were waiting for their lunch to be served, Alison eyed up her cousin and opened her mouth to say something, but before she could actually utter a word, he lifted his hand and said "Don't say it!" "What?" "That I'm as sallow as a worm." Alison laughed and responded "That was not what I wanted to say, but now that you bring it up – you really aren't very tanned! Let me guess – sunblock factor 50?" Richard nodded and elaborated "You know how I don't tan – I just burn and freckle eventually… but who am I to tell you? Your skin is even more sensitive." That was a generous remark – usually, Richard didn't admit that there was anybody with more sensitive skin than his. He then added inquiringly "So, what did you want to say then, if it wasn't anything like that?"

"Well, I was going to ask what you're doing here! I thought you were on that sunny island of yours, sweating away and solving murder cases! Are you on holidays, or are you back for good?" Alison demanded.

"Neither, I think…" was Richard's cryptic reply. A curious glance met his eyes, and he explained "Well, I had to escort a suspect to the UK – she actually could help us to find the money that disappeared in a fraud case, and her cooperation might have a favourable effect on her own sentence. She killed someone, so she'll need all the help she can get, I suppose. I had to give evidence and report about our investigations, obviously. Since I had not had a holiday since I was sent to this sweatbox of an island, the Commissioner suggested I'd take the chance to spend a week at home and relax a little in the rain! So, it's partly work-related." "Ah – I understand. But what do you mean by 'you don't think you're back for good'?"

They were interrupted by the waiter who brought them their food – a large pizza for Richard and a pasta dish for Alison. When he disappeared again, Richard continued "I'll have an appointment with HR tomorrow, and I'm not sure what that means…" He explained "Originally, I was supposed to talk to them on the day after my arrival, but then they let me know they'd have to postpone it to Thursday - tomorrow. It just makes me nervous, you know. They had left me hanging for the second year of my assignment – actually, after the first year, they only prolonged the assignment for three months, and it continued like that over the entire year. They always told me there are no vacancies over here, so they would prolong the assignment for three more months, promising me that they'd – erm - inform me rightaway if they had any available positions here. Well, that never happened, but when I left for the UK before the weekend, the Commissioner on Saint Marie informed me that HR wanted to talk to me while I was here. I wonder what's up, and it worries me. I don't know what they want from me, and I'm not sure I want to know." His voice got a bit unsteady here, and so Alison didn't ask any further questions. She sensed that there was more to this than the obvious, but she knew how hard it was for him to talk about personal matters, so she didn't probe any deeper.

So, they talked about family news and general stuff during their meal. Richard mentioned that he had seen his parents over the weekend, and the big sigh that he let out at the end of his little tale indicated his relief that it was behind him. He loved his parents, but it was more out of duty than out of real affection. They lived on a different planet, and their relationship was characterized by mutual lack of understanding and _not knowing what to say to each other._ The years at boarding school had estranged him from his parents to a certain extent, and since he had left school and started university, it had not really become any better.

It was not that they argued or anything like that… it was simply that they did not know what to talk about, other than small talk. His mother kept fussing over him without really having any idea of Richard's likes, interests and needs, and his father was uptight, almost priggish at times, and appeared to be grumpy by default. Richard always felt that his father was disappointed with him, although he could not really put his finger on why he felt this way as neither of his parents ever really expressed any sentiment like that verbally. He couldn't help but remember Camille's remark that he might be like his dad as he had _difficulty in expressing emotions_ … that was not a very happy thought for him. He didn't want to be grumpy and aloof! Yet, he had to admit that he might come across exactly that way – and that was a downright depressing thought. But how do you change something that is so rooted in your personality? Or was it just a habit? He hadn't always been as fastidious and uptight as now… It surely was part of his personality to a certain extent, but he had cultivated it – and maybe taken it too far, at least in his private life. He never had questioned his habits the way he did now…

He decided not to dwell on the topic of parents as it was just too frustrating, so he asked Alison what she had been up to lately. She surprised him by saying "Oh, I got engaged." His incredulous look made her laugh. She had not mentioned it in her last e-mail to him as it had still been so fresh that she didn't want to share it, not even with him. She showed him an unflashy, rather non-prestigious ring now. It looked good on her but was completely inconspicuous and didn't look like the typical engagement ring. Richard thought that choosing something like that was just so characteristic of her and her partner. "Here, look! Yes, I know – we all thought it would never happen, including Sid and myself. But he had a couple of health issues last year, and it turned out that it was a bit of a struggle for me to get info on how he was doing and what they were planning to do with him in hospital as I'm 'only' his partner, not his wife. I think that made us both re-consider. Also, we realised how fragile life can be, you know… whatever… he popped the question last month, and I said yes. We'll get married next summer. Shouldn't be a big deal, it won't be one of those weddings with fancy dresses, hats and penguin suits - and all the frills and trimmings. Mum was shocked when I told her – she had always taken great pride in having a 'spinster daughter', as she called it. – Oh, thank you…" She looked up to the waiter who took away her empty plate.

"Well, I'll let you know what comes out of it all eventually. And of course, if you can make it possible, I'd love to have you there for the wedding!" They ordered dessert and coffee, then Alison took up the thread of conversation again. "So, how's life in the Caribbean, Richard? What is working on a tropical island like?" His face lit up and he set off into a long lecture about how different the police work was over there, how they had to do without forensics and ballistics and all the things he had taken for granted in the UK. It was obvious that he was proud of his work there, and he emphasised several times how lucky he was to have such a supportive team.

"Mind you, they are amazing. They are so devoted to what we're doing, and they're very loyal. If it wasn't that hot over there, I don't think I would have any serious quibbles about the island. You know, obviously, it's not England, but you get used to it. I had a horrible time over the first half year or so, but well, I think I learnt to live with most of the downsides in the meantime. I found some good insect repellent, so that has made a huge difference. I got eaten alive by the bugs at first, but not anymore now. Can't blame them, that lotion smells awful – luckily the scent wears off after a while, but by then the bugs have obviously lost interest... The food can be challenging sometimes, rather spicy, but again – you get used to it, and you learn what combinations are good for you and what you'd rather avoid. And the fruit… really, really marvellous. You know how much I always liked bananas – well, the bananas you get there are wonderful. Compared to that, the ones you can get here are just a sorry excuse of fruit! I also love the mangoes – oh, and there's more. I'm obviously less excited about the seafood, and unfortunately, the island is full of that. I try to avoid it, but it's not always possible!"

He then took out his phone and showed her a couple of snapshots that he had taken during his time on Saint Marie. There were pictures of his shack – inside and outside, several of the beach and the palm trees, the general scenery, even a photo of Harry. Then there were photos of the station and the team, even one or two of Catherine and the Commissioner – he had taken a bunch of pictures at their after-work gatherings and special events happening at La Kaz.

Alison looked at them and commented on how beautiful the scenery was and how amazing his shack looked ("Oh, is that really a live tree next to your bed? How wonderful!"). Dwayne's photo made her laugh out loud – he was wearing one of his colourful shirts, holding a bottle of beer and smiling broadly into the camera ("I bet he knows how to party, huh!") -, and she commented "Wow, what a looker" on Fidel's picture. Then a photo of Camille popped up… and another one… and a third one. Alison looked up and her gaze met Richard's eyes as the colour rose in his cheeks.

She realised that there was more behind the whole thing than he wanted her to know, but it was obvious that he was in turmoil about something, and his addled brain couldn't find a way out of the maze. After having known him for so long, she was well aware that his privacy was sacred to him and he didn't appreciate people asking questions, but she knew that this was not the moment for leaving him alone.


	7. The Countdown has started

Chapter 7

The countdown has started

As Camille woke up on Friday morning, she knew before she was fully awake that today was a special day. "I'll be back on Friday" he had said. She felt the excitement in the pit of her stomach and jumped out of her bed. After her morning shower she had breakfast – not without almost cutting off her finger, burning the tip of her tongue with hot coffee, and biting the inside of her cheek when she ate her croissant. Ouch. This was going to be an interesting day. Hopefully, it would end better than it had started…

She got into her tan skirt and the dark blue blouse and left for the station. On the way, she made a mental list of her tasks and duties today, as far as she could foresee them at this point. Feeding Harry would not be one of them – unless Richard failed to come back. If everything went all right, he should be there by 6 p.m. – give or take a few minutes - depending on traffic.

The Commissioner had informed her that he would go to the airport to pick up the Inspector. Actually, his choice of words had insinuated that she might want to pick up Richard – Camille suspected that he had talked to her mother about this. She turned down this thinly veiled offer – she did not want to feed any more rumours or gossip. It was bad enough that her mother and the Commissioner had a hunch that she was pining for Richard. Considering that she was not sure about his feelings at all, it could only become more embarrassing if she went to pick him up. She might not be able to refrain from hurling herself at him and telling him she'd missed him – and he'd be mortified by her emotional outburst. No, she'd best stay where she was and let the Commissioner see him at the airport.

As a matter of fact, it hadn't escaped Catherine that Camille had been a little moody during Richard's absence, and yes, she had indeed taken the opportunity to talk to the Commissioner when he approached her on Thursday morning. She was not too excited about the idea that her daughter might be in love with the starchy Englishman, but she figured there wasn't anything she could do about it.

And even if she could… there was no doubt that Camille would never forgive her if she dared to interfere. Catherine was not unaware of the delicacy of the matter. Camille would always go her own way. Of course, she wanted her daughter to be happy – admittedly, her concept of happiness might differ from Camille's idea of it, and she respected that. She had always gone her own way, too, she had brought up her daughter to fend for herself and take responsibility for her actions and decisions, and so she understood Camille's attitude.

But really, did it have to be Richard – of all the men on the island?

Against all odds, the conversation with the Commissioner had made her a fraction more mellow in her views about Richard. He pointed out a few things she hadn't considered so far, and these insights made her look at things differently. She had lamented a little about how he offish he was sometimes (sometimes? At all times!), how he kept wearing his woollen suits when that was so impractical, and how he just couldn't be happy with where he was.

The Commissioner had smiled indulgently while sipping his drink, then he took the floor and remarked "But Catherine, is it fair to criticise him like that and complain about his quirks? You know what he's like. He might have his weaknesses, but they are part of him. You might as well complain about the rain coming from up above instead of down below. You and I both know that the Inspector never really wanted to be here, yet he's never been idling around or become remiss in his duties. He knows very well that with the good work he's doing, I won't let him go without a fight. So by doing his work carefully and solving all these cases, he anchors himself more to the island, and he knows it – yet he never has been lackadaisical. And he always manages to motivate the team – they respect him for his fairness and work ethics. I will admit that I have not always been happy with how he has done his investigations – the way he handled the situation at the Jacaranda Clinic at first was rather bold, almost unabashed, and not tactful at all, but he didn't back down, he said and did what he thought was right. He had the courage to insist, and I give him credit for that. I put pressure on him, and he ended up proving me wrong – I would never have thought there'd be so much criminal energy in this place. I was shocked when I realised what had been going on – right before my very eyes, so-to-speak, and I had not suspected anything!"

Catherine admitted that the Commissioner had a point there. "But these suits – I'm sure that they contribute to his unhappiness… and then he gets hot, moody and peevish, and Camille and the others have to suck it up. Why can't he just wear loose shirts and trousers like Charlie Hulme did?" The Commissioner smiled. "Catherine, I will tell you a secret now – I never liked that. I'm very glad that Inspector Poole dresses according to his job. It brings about more respect if you wear something smart. He might be overdoing it a little, but the sloppy manner of Charlie Hulme never made me very happy. I couldn't say anything about it to him since senior officers do not have to follow an official dresscode, but it doesn't make a good impression if you dress like a tramp in our field of work. However, if you think that the woollen suits play such a big part in the Inspectors grouchy moods, I might have a word with him and make a few suggestions regarding lightweight suits." He added sardonically "Considering his bad luck with the luggage carousel on our airport, he might have to go shopping next week, anyway. I doubt that he'll want to spend an incalculable amount of time in his only suit."

"But Selwyn, they usually deliver lost luggage within a day or two, so by Monday he'll have his case, and then he won't want to go clothes shopping anymore – even if he'd be ready to do so initially… He'll just continue to do what he has always been doing."

"Oh, is that so, Catherine? If he seems unwilling to hit the shops, just leave it to me! I have my ways to use my influence," said the Commissioner with a sly grin. Then he rose and said "Have a good day, and don't fret. The Inspector isn't as unpleasant as he often appears to be. And I have good reasons to believe that he will make more efforts to finally settle in than he did over the past two years…"

Catherine raised her eyebrows and exchanged a knowing smile with Selwyn Patterson before she said "Right, Selwyn – and thank you so much. In all fairness, I hadn't realised some of the points that you mentioned, and maybe you're right – he might not be as grumpy as he appears to be after all. I know he can be very kind, and I'll never forget that he solved the mystery of how Angelique's daughter died – and that he saw to it that the murderer was caught. Not to mention Camille's friend's murder not so long ago – and I know that Camille is very grateful for his efforts and accomplishments there, too."

The morning flew by. Before they knew it, it was lunchtime. Dwayne and Fidel got some food from the market, but Camille said she had errands to run and disappeared. When she returned, a slight smile curved her lips, and as the day went by, she got more and more giddy and fidgety. Fidel – who could hardly wait to show off his new Sergeant's stripes to the Chief (although he knew that would have to wait until Monday when he'd be in uniform again… but still, he was proud to have them!) – and Dwayne noticed her agitation, but didn't say anything. They knew that any remark they'd come up with would make Camille fly off the handle as she was so over-excited.

Dwayne was actually a little worried for her – he wasn't entirely convinced that Richard would come back, and heaven only knew how Camille would take it if it turned out that he was going to stay in the UK. He had obviously noticed the growing mutual attraction between Camille and the Chief, but in his opinion, the Chief was scared to death of his emotions (not to mention that Camille was indeed a handful – a relationship between the two of them surely wouldn't get boring! Would be fun to be a fly on the wall if they ever got together), and he might chicken out at the last moment and decide not to return – if the Met offered him another position, it would be perfectly easy for him to leave the Caribbean behind. He never really had settled in, anyway, although it had become a bit better over the past few months. It was obvious that the heat still did him in, and the complaints about sand and humidity hadn't stopped, either – although they came less frequently and less intensely now.

Fidel would be sad because he felt that the Chief had done much for him and he owed him something for recommending him for the Sergeants' exams, but he'd get over it – he was young and ambitious, and he'd climb the ladder, with or without Richard. For Dwayne himself it was different – he had never entertained anything as cumbersome as ambition, and he'd just go with the flow. He had worked well enough with Charlie Hulme, he had adjusted to Richard, and if another Inspector was to come from overseas, he'd work with him as well – he was flexible.

But Camille? How would she feel? After her training and service in Paris, she had worked undercover for a while, and she had reported directly to the Commissioner. When her disguise was wrecked and she had to begin to work as a regular DS with the team, she hadn't been too happy, and she had teased, provoked and challenged Richard wherever she could. He had earned her respect rather quickly, however, and Dwayne knew that Camille wouldn't work so well with someone she couldn't respect.

Recently, things had become different at the station, anyway. Dwayne had definitely noticed the way Camille looked at the Chief when she thought nobody noticed. She might not take it very well if he didn't come back – for all kinds of reasons. The older officer chuckled, recalling how she had managed to wind up the Chief with the silliest things on oh so many occasions, and their shouting matches were still priceless. Camille's way of saying things sometimes really was provocative, and Richard was just hilarious when he was hitting the roof with anger – provided the anger was not directed towards him, Dwayne quite enjoyed these scenes. It was better than any reality TV show could ever be.

"What's so funny?" asked Fidel. "Oh, nothing important" said Dwayne, as he was caught grinning from ear to ear. "What time is it – can't we lock up already? Look, it's five o'clock – time to start the weekend, huh, Camille?"

"Oh, right – I think we can finish for today," said Camille. "There's no point in wasting any more time here. Who's going to be on call tonight? Fidel?" The young officer sighed and nodded. He hoped it would be a quiet evening. He just wanted to greet the Chief, have a few drinks and go home to see Juliet and the baby – family life was so much more important than work.

"Meet at La Kaz just before 6?" asked Camille. The boys nodded, and off they went. It had been a quiet week with few cases, so they didn't feel overly exhausted, but still it was nice to know that the weekend had arrived.

Camille rushed home – only a little more than an hour, and he'd be back again! It had been a long week, but now it all seemed to go almost too fast. Forgotten were the doubts that had bothered her so much on some days this week. He'd be back! She took a quick shower and then flew into her bedroom to get dressed. As she opened the doors of her closet, her mind went blank – what on earth should she wear to greet him?

She wanted to show him that his return was a reason to celebrate, that she was happy to see him, that she was excited about having him back – no, stop, she wasn't "having him back". He was returning to his workplace and to the team, not to her in particular. Her racing mind slowed down and sobered a little. The doubts came up again. She rifled through her wardrobe, pulled out a few items and shoved them in again. No, not the blue one, or the yellow one, or the turquoise one. Not the red one, either – she had worn that on the evening of the blind date, and although he had said she looked stunning in it, she didn't want to wear it tonight. Not something that felt like she was recycling it for another occasion.

But then, all of a sudden she knew what she would be wearing. Her hands began to flutter nervously as she was trying to find what she was looking for. Ah, here it was. She had bought this for a special occasion – well, if this wasn't a special occasion, she couldn't think of anything that would fall into that category. She knew that the colour looked good on her, and she hoped he'd understand she'd be wearing this just for him tonight. With a little luck, he might even say something about it – but she didn't count on it…

Shortly afterwards, she showed up at the bar. She had carefully applied new make-up – discreetly, so it didn't look overdone – and brushed her hair briskly so it fell into its natural curls, but didn't appear to be "puffed up". She tried to ignore Catherine's knowing looks and her teasing remarks, claimed that she had only put on this dress coincidentally because it was the first thing in the wardrobe she found, played innocent… but she couldn't quite hide her nervousness. And of course, she knew that she couldn't deceive her mother – so when Catherine suggested decorating the bar for a little welcome party for Richard, she literally flew to fetch the lights, the balloons, the festive table decorations…

Catherine smiled quietly. She still had her doubts about Richard, but maybe he wasn't as hopeless as he appeared to be, even if he hadn't appreciated her chicken soup. Whatever silly thing he may have done in the past and might do in the future, she'd forgive him if he'd make her daughter happy.


	8. Returning to the Caribbean

Chapter 8

Returning to the Caribbean

'Long distance flights in economy class are a modern version of torture', thought Richard Poole as he tried to find a comfortable position in his seat for the umpteenth time. It was just impossible to feel at ease in these cramped circumstances. Well, it wouldn't last much longer, the main part of the flight was over. Fortunately. Although… who knew what was waiting for him on Saint Marie? Depending on what that might be, he would perhaps wish the flight never had ended.

Slightly unnerved, he fiddled around with the entertainment screen in front of him – the movies that were available didn't appeal to him, so he had a look at the music channels and finally settled for the Beatles – the classical channel played the same pieces as last week when he had gone to the UK, and he wasn't interested in replaying it.

Admittedly, he didn't think every single song by the Beatles was a masterpiece, but many of them were pretty good, though their lyrics seldom were intellectually challenging (not to mention grammatically correct), particularly in the early years. Considering that they had only been around for about 10 years before they split up, their musical influence had been huge, in any case, and it was fun to listen to them, provided you were in the mood for it.

He followed the channel for a while, even tapped his foot along to "She loves you" and "I feel fine", but when the Fab Four started to sing "I'm a loser", he decided that enough was enough. He liked the catchy tune, but couldn't stand the lyrics at the moment. He got rid of the headphones halfway through the song and tried to think of something else to do. He had a book with him, of course, but had tried to get into it several times already – without any success. So, why bother again?

Closing his eyes, his mind roamed back to the past week. It had been a long week – strangely enough… he figured he perceived it that way because so much had happened. And then again – once he had spoken to the people in the HR department, it all seemed to go so fast – it was basically just running back to his hotel, packing everything up, going to bed, having weird dreams and running to the airport… and in less than an hour he'd be back on Saint Marie.

London had been – well, of course, it had been good to be back, feel the rain and the cold, melt into the grey and anonymous masses again… Wearing his jumper and putting on the heating in his hotel room had given him a strange feeling of pleasure. It was nice not to sit in an oven all day long as he did in the Caribbean. He had also enjoyed visiting a few museums and exhibits. There wasn't anything like that on Saint Marie. But it had been an emotionally challenging couple of days, and he felt drained. By the same token, he had to admit that he had gained some surprising insights – he hoped he could put them to good use. And his appointment with HR had gone better than expected. He was relieved that he had come to an agreement with them, that should make things easier in many respects. In many, however, maybe not in all…

That "maybe" worried him a little, to put it mildly. Right – it scared him out of his wits, if he was honest. But what had Alison's words been? "Remember, Richard – there is truth in what Einstein said about insanity: it means doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. If you want things to change, you will have to stop following the same pattern!"

Rationally, he could see the point, but translating it into action was a whole different story. He also knew that his personality was formed – all he could do was try and look at things from different angles, move out of his comfort zone every once in a while and establish new habits. But his character was something that couldn't be changed – there was no question of that, anyway – it was more a matter of "loosening up" and leaving more doors open than keeping them all closed and shutting people out… He understood that now.

How would these attempts to alter some of his behaviour patterns turn out? Then again, if Camille didn't like him the way he was now, she wouldn't like another version of him, either – he'd always be more reserved and less gregarious than the island people. Ah, it wasn't easy. The thing was, he was beginning to get fed up with being the predictable person he'd been for so long - someone who'd do the same thing over and over, sitting on the fence and watching others having fun. For a long time, this had been what he had wanted – but not so anymore. So, if he didn't like it, he'd have to make changes. He was holding on to some habits out of insecurity, as he had realised during the conversation with Alison – and as he wasn't happy with all that, anyway, he might as well make a few changes and see where that would lead him… but how and where should he begin?

He remembered how dead embarrassed he had been when his cousin had accidentally seen all the different photos of Camille. He had never intended to show her all of them – had she not taken the phone out of his hand and flipped innocently through the shots, that never would have happened. But of course, it wasn't her fault. It was nobody's fault but his own – he never should have stored all these pictures in the first place. He never should have taken them at all… He had blushed and tried to cover up his embarrassment with a quip, but his wisecracking hadn't worked this time. She knew him too well.

Alison had leant back and said with a light smile "And this is Camille, I reckon?" He had nodded and looked down onto the dish of tiramisu in front of him. Her voice had been genuinely sympathetic as she had continued "She's very pretty. And apparently temperamental."

His lips had twitched as he responded "Mercurial, in fact. She's 'half French' – need I say more?" "You've got it quite bad, hm?" He had looked up again and asked back "Is it so obvious?" His cousin had raised her eyebrows and remarked "Well, I'm sure that not everybody knows you have heaps of pictures of her on your phone. And given the fact that you have perfected the art of playing your emotional cards close to your chest, I doubt that people could guess how far your feelings really go." He had felt relieved. The last thing in the world that he wanted was making an idiot of himself by appearing moonstruck like a lovesick teenager.

She had continued "But whatever… I don't think here's the right place to talk about that – provided you want to talk about it at all. I mean, it's your life, and you're a big boy, so you might not want to discuss it." Apparently, she had half expected him to either laugh it off or blow up at her and tell her to mind her own business, but that hadn't happened. He had just sighed. Oh dear. Yes, he really had it bad. No point in pretending it was otherwise. Right. So, this solved the problem of whether or not - and if yes - how to bring up the subject…

They had finished their dessert in silence. The tiramisu was excellent, but somehow, Richard had found it hard to do it justice at this point. Without any further discussion, he had agreed to accompany her back to the library afterwards. They entered the building through the staff entrance. As they had arrived at Alison's office, she had parked him in one of the armchairs in a corner of the room where she usually sat down with bookshop representatives or other official visitors. She had made some tea, called Dorothy to say she was back but didn't wish to be disturbed until further notice and put a note on her office door, indicating that she was in an important meeting.

He had felt like the proverbial duck in a thunderstorm – somewhat apprehensive and slightly frightened of what might come next – as he was watching her move around quietly. Well, at least his cousin would not shoot him down and make him feel like the complete idiot that he probably was.

Finally, Alison had poured him a cup of tea (quite drinkable, though not perfect) and taken the seat opposite to him, leaning back and demanding softly "Now come on, Richard – spit it out!" This simple invitation had opened the floodgates – well, as far as Richard's buttoned-up personality had allowed it (which admittedly wasn't very far, compared to other people).

After some intitial stammering and stuttering, it hadn't taken him long to describe the way Camille and he had met and how their rocky relationship had developed over the past two years. Alison had just let him talk and had not interrupted him. Occasionally, she had asked a question to draw him out further, and every once in a while, she had chuckled quietly or made an understanding noise. The story of the Erzulie festival and the preceding arguments had made her smile gently, and when Richard had described with few words (and a harrowed expression) how helpless he had felt when Aimee had been killed, her eyes had become misty, but she hadn't moved or said anything. She had understood already how he had wanted to slap himself for his ineptitude – there was no need to elaborate on it.

He had not gone into how exactly they had spent the night of the hurricane as he had felt that this was very private and personal – and it would not have added any further relevant information. That was what he had reasoned – but of course it had only been part of the truth. The memory of the feeling of Camille's lithe body nestled so close to his and the peace he had felt while listening to her soft breathing as she was sleeping (after he had overcome his initial tenseness and the worries that she might notice how her nearness confused him) – that was too precious to him – he would not share that with anybody. Talking about this moment would have been an act of desecration.

Yes, he knew it, he was hopelessly sentimental about this, maybe to the extent of being silly. But well – if he wanted to be sentimental, that was all his own business. All that counted to him was that he wanted to cherish the memory – he might never get as close to her again as he had been that night – not only physically, but also emotionally. The dreams that had been haunting him even more persistently since then also remained his secret… He hardly admitted them to himself – there was no way he'd talk about them.

He had not mentioned to Alison, either, that during their conversation, Camille had tilted her head to the side – a habit that he found disturbingly adorable - and said "You don't have to solve your puzzles alone anymore. You have me now." He still wasn't quite sure what precisely she had wanted to say by that. It drove him nuts. There was a host of possible meanings, and he did not want to play guessing games. Women and their mysterious ways! He'd never understand them… Why didn't they just say what they meant? So he had only told Alison that he and Camille had talked about childhood memories, and she had said that she liked him when he was "human".

As he had fallen silent, Alison had been sitting there, quietly fingering her colourful wooden necklace and looking at him thoughtfully. She surely had been well aware of how much it had cost him emotionally to open up like that – although, compared to others, he still had been very reserved and had managed to formulate in his own factual, almost austere style. After all, he was used to sticking to bare facts. It was essential in his job.

"Well, you've had a bit of a bumpy start, haven't you," she finally had remarked. Richard just huffed. "Let me just summarize this, Richard…" she had then offered. "You are smitten with Camille, but you are afraid of showing her. If she returns your feelings and things move on from there, you're scared that you will muck up the relationship. Not to mention that working with her could become difficult if you cannot separate your private life from your professional relationship. Let me say that I don't think the latter would happen – you aren't the type who would mix up different levels of relationships with people and make Camille suffer at work for something she said to you in private – and the other way round. I know you are fair, even if you are upset with someone – at least you try. If she doesn't return your feelings, you will feel humiliated, and working together would also be difficult. You would perhaps also lose her friendship. So, you've been determined to keep it a secret until now. Right?"

He had nodded mutely, and she had continued: "Another issue is the three month extension to your assignment that you mentioned earlier on – you haven't made a move so far also because you've been scared that your assignment might not get prolonged at some point, and if you had started to open up and show your feelings a bit more, the budding relationship might have come to an end abruptly as the Met will just give you a month to finish all ongoing work and start at your new workplace. Asking for a permanent transfer to Saint Marie now would mean you'd be stuck there, for better or for worse, and if things between you and Camille go wrong, you couldn't escape. Seems like you're between a rock and a hard place here, huh! You don't want to move, and from your perspective, anything you did do might end in a catastrophe. You can't keep still, either, because your feelings are getting in the way now. It may not be a very original thing that I'm saying now, but honestly, there is no such thing as a risk-free life. You'll never know if you don't try, and you have already lost if you don't go ahead and give it a shot. I think it's time for you to take charge of your life and do something about what's paralysing you."

Her words had made Richard squirm in his armchair. "So," – he had cleared his throat – "you think I'm a coward?"

"No, Richard – if you were a coward you'd just bury your head and ignore the whole thing, hoping it would go away. You're trying to face it, though, and you know that something's got to happen, you just don't know what. As I see it, you've been hurt quite deeply at some point in the past, and you're afraid. You bury yourself in work, and when you're not working, you're busying yourself with solitary activities. You try not to want what you think is out of your league and that you believe you can't have." He had laughed with some bitterness at that remark – there was more truth in this than he cared to admit.

"Your fear of getting hurt again is like a cloak you're wearing, and you pretend you don't care about others so nobody can cause you pain. But who are you fooling there? Not even yourself, I daresay. According to your words, Camille is intuitive and reads people well… don't you think she has figured this all out yet? As far as her own feelings are concerned – I cannot speak for her, obviously. But a lot of what you say indicates that she honestly likes and respects you, and that's a good foundation. She spends so much time with you at work, and then she asks you to join the get-togethers in her mother's bar so she can spend even more time with you. She made your other officers revamp the boat for you. She took you to places so you'll get to know the island. She found someone to give you medication when you had that irritating skin condition. She did not even run away when she saw you in your striped pyjamas. She agreed to feeding your lizard during your absence. You know, she would not do these things if she didn't genuinely like you. She wants you to feel comfortable and settle in – do you think she'd do all that if she didn't care?"

"But what if it's really only friendship? I might destroy what we have if I show her how much she means to me." And I'd be lonely again, more so than before, he had added in his thoughts. Aloud, he continued "And I mean, look at me – I'm hardly good enough for her…"

He had pulled a face, thinking of his hairline and his lack of fitness. And of his age, his light, oversensitive skin, his overall boring looks. Alison had laughed again. "Oh Richard – that's silly, and you're fishing for compliments. You're so much more than just 'good enough'. You might not look like a Greek god – depending on which of their gods you choose to compare yourself to, that actually is a very good thing! - but you're in fairly good shape, and if you started to exercise again a bit more regularly, you'd look even better. Yes, I know it's hot and humid over there, but where there is a will, there is a way. Stop pitying yourself – do something! Not to impress people, but to feel better about yourself! And believe me, your beautiful Camille surely has doubts about herself, too. Everybody does, no matter how pretty they are. Whether there's a good reason for it or not - chances are, she thinks her bum is too fat or her boobs are too small. Or both."

Richard had stared at Alison in disbelief. Surely someone like Camille who had been blessed with beauty wouldn't have doubts about her appearance? He had tried to digest this. Alison had interrupted his thoughts by continuing: "But really, at the end of the day, it's not looks that count, and you know that, of course. It's character, it's a sense of humour, it's compassion, it's the ability to give and receive love, the readiness to forgive and compromise – oh, so much more. You have all that, and it will never ever go away although you try to hide it because people have taken advantage of you in the past. You know, looks might pique your interest initially, but if that's all you have, it won't hold the fascination for too long. If Camille was only beautiful, you would have lost interest long ago. I doubt you'd be pining for her if she were a shallow bimbo and judged people by their appearance. You say she worked undercover – don't you think she has a good eye for what people are and what they are not, no matter what they look like? It's about so much more than looks. I know for sure that Sid and I wouldn't have come together if it had only been our respective appearances! Particularly considering how we first met…" She had chuckled at a memory.

Richard suddenly had wanted to know how she and Sid had got to know one another – he had realised that he had never wondered. Sid just had been there at some point, and there never had been any hint about how they met. Alison had seen the question mark in his eyes and laughed again. "I never told you, did I? I guess it won't hurt to do so now… Well, we both were guests at a wedding. One of these big, fancy ones, with hats, feathers and fascinators. I didn't know anyone apart from the bride and just ate my way through the hors d'oeuvres. I was bored silly. You know that extensive small talk has never really been my cup of tea. Sid was standing at the other side of the lawn, idly watching people as he loves to do – you know what he's like! I didn't even notice him, I was just standing there, having a vol-au-vent. The next thing I knew was that I felt awfully sick, stumbled into the bushes behind me and threw up, trying to make as little noise as possible. Suddenly, I heard someone say 'It's going to be all right', and he was there, holding my head as I was sicking up and taking care of me. He gave me his handkerchief, helped me to make myself presentable again and even managed to retrieve my handbag that I had thrown somewhere. I was so embarrassed, yet unbelievably grateful. I think I just gawked at him once I had come to life again. He said nonchalantly 'You know, I love the colour of your dress' – it was sage! – 'but it got a bit disconcerting when your face turned the same shade of green, so I thought I'd come to the rescue.' Believe me, I wanted the ground to swallow me up! But we were friends from that moment on, went out for coffee and drinks a couple of times, and months later, we realised we were in love. We never had a serious 'date' with all the trimmings – candlelight, self-conscious chit-chat, so-called romantic gestures that are supposed to impress the person sitting opposite to you - you name it. That's all good and well, but personally, I believe that's over-rated. Anyway. We more or less slid into it. It just happened. Sid still is my best friend. He drives me bonkers at times, and I know that he feels the same way about me, but we don't want to live without one another."

Richard smiled as he thought of this love story. It gave him hope for the future. No matter how odd the circumstances had been - Alison had found a best friend who turned into the love of her life, so maybe there was a chance for him as well. He felt a lot more determined now than a week ago – he would make a move.

Then, much to his surprise, the announcement that passengers should get ready for landing came through. He hadn't even noticed that it was already time. He felt a knot in his stomach as he thought about what the evening and the forthcoming weekend might bring. As he shoved his briefcase under the seat in front of him, the flap opened and something rectangular fell out: Alison's goodbye present, nicely wrapped in gift paper, decorated with stars in all colours. The tag said 'Reach for the stars, Richard – enjoy, and good luck!'

* * *

 **Notes:** The songs by the Beatles are "I feel fine" (published as a single record in 1964), "She loves you" (published as a single record in 1963) and "I'm a loser (published 1964, on the album "Beatles for Sale").

They obviously are from their early creative period during which they mostly came up with catchy tunes and easy lyrics, although "I'm a loser" is considered a turning point as it's the first time the Beatles actually go beyond "young love" in their songs and talk about disappointment and having to put up a straight face despite being sad ("Help" – which is a lot more straightforward and literally cries out for help, despite the zippy music – came out in the following year).


	9. Kindness and Patience

Chapter 9

Kindness and Patience

Dwayne and Fidel showed up in time – both in "plainclothes", as opposed to uniforms. The older officer's clothing could clearly never be described as "plain"… but somehow it suited him. He just was a bird of paradise and loved to show off his feathers. Actually, tonight he wore a shirt that could almost be described as "modest" – for his standards, anyway. Perhaps he didn't want to shock the Chief right away upon his return?

The boys both looked around with appreciation. Of course, the Chief would not say much about the decoration and all that, but that wouldn't mean he didn't like it. He wasn't keen on having others make a fuss over him, still he deserved a little party, and this was not going over the top. They had learnt from his earlier behaviour that he didn't want to be in the limelight, so it was a good thing that Camille and her mother had not taken out the full party decoration with sparklers and streamers.

Fidel and Dwayne sat down with their beers and chatted a little until Camille joined them. Her nervousness changed the atmosphere immediately. It went from relaxed and laid-back to slightly nervous and tense. Dwayne groaned inwardly. He just wanted this to be over – one way or another. At this point he only wanted to know whether or not the Chief would return – he'd survive whatever would come.

Camille calculated the time again. Dwayne had lost count of how often she had repeated this ceremony already. Just as he was muttering "Yeah, the suspense is killing me", the Commissioner's car arrived and stopped outside. Camille had been somewhat tense before, but now she was like a coiled spring. The Commissioner came in – and much to everyone's horror he seemed to be alone. Camille felt like fainting. Fidel anxiously asked "He was on the flight, wasn't he?" She was grateful that he had spoken – she felt her tongue was glued somewhere in her mouth, and it seemed impossible to say a word. She heard the Commissioner say something about problems… and surely that meant Richard hadn't come back. She felt like she was caught in a bad movie or a nightmare – or both, for that matter. Her head sank – along with her heart.

Then, all of a sudden, a voice filled the room. A ranting, angry, annoyed voice, going on about lost suitcases, a cursed luggage carousel in the airport of a benighted island, and unlucky people who would have to wear the same trousers for at least a week once again, if not longer than that.

Camille couldn't help it – she just had to smile broadly. His voice was perhaps not like the angels' singing, but it was all she wanted to hear right now. "Good to have you back" she said softly, echoing the boys' welcoming words. She was a little disappointed that he had obviously hardly noticed her at all so far – with all the efforts she had made to look good for him, she would have hoped he'd have at least a closer look at her. But maybe she had only made the efforts for herself, anyway. Whatever, it didn't signify at this point. He was back, and that was all that counted.

Catherine as well as the Commissioner had not failed to observe Camille's initial reaction – and they had also noticed the sideways glance that Richard had taken at Camille. They exchanged a little wink before the Commissioner sat down to have a drink with the team and Catherine brought out the tea set for Richard. He made a remark about the decorations and how they shouldn't have made a fuss about him and smiled his famous lopsided smile – directed at everyone, but his gaze rested on his DS a little longer now.

Dwayne and Fidel wanted to know what London had been like, and Camille was glad that they asked. She didn't trust her voice, and so she just sat back, listening, sipping at her drink and smiling happily. Every once in a while she noticed how he peered over to her – furtively, as if he didn't dare to allow his eyes to linger. Not for the first time she wanted to ask if he had missed Saint Marie, work, the station, the boys – and her, of course. Well, she might find out later, she decided. Perhaps when she was driving him home later on. After all, he was back now – and she could finally ask him everything she wanted to know. Maybe not so openly, she might have to tread softly, but she would ask for sure. And his reaction would hopefully be a clearer signal than the ones he had been sending out before…

She felt so much better now that he was back. Now, everything would be all right – the first hurdle was over. She had been so worried that he might not return, but now that he was here again, everything seemed possible. She was convinced that she'd find a way to make him understand that she needed and wanted him – not only as a colleague, but as… well, he'd find out. Admittedly, he was a bit slow on the uptake when it came to emotional affairs, but not even he could be that dense in the long run. Now that she knew what she wanted and had had time to reflect and think about it all, she could get things moving. What had all her doubts been about?

In hindsight, she had to say that the past week had been an emotional roller coaster for her. She had been through it all - sadness over his departure, doubts about his return, questions about her own emotions – not to mention his! -, bouts of lack of self-confidence (alternating with defiance!), glorifying and painting him in the brightest colours, followed by denying all his qualities and telling herself what a fool she was, hopefulness about what could happen between them in the future, worries and doubts about which way to take – ah, it had been ridiculous. And draining. Very draining. And all the time she had to put on a brave face and pretend that she was just fine. She knew that not everyone had believed the façade she had put up, though most people fortunately did. But now that he was back, she was not forced to wait any longer. She could actually do something. And that was much better than sitting around and twiddling her thumbs.

Her recent conversation with Sister Marguerite came to her mind again. She would never have dreamed of talking about love with a nun, but that was what had happened. After her fitness class on Wednesday, she had dawdled a little, and eventually, Sister Marguerite had been there to lock the door of the hall again, and Camille had got into talking with her. The Zumba class had done her a world of good - she had felt tired, but in a good way – as it often happens after exercise. They had sat down together on a bench outside the building, and Sister Marguerite had asked her how things were going for her.

Camille had told her a little about work and about how Richard's absence made for a rather unspectacular time at the station. At that point, she hadn't been aware of the longing in her voice. Sister Marguerite had noticed it, though, and said quietly "He's a good man. Very kind. Complex character, however. You miss him." It hadn't been a question, but a statement. Camille had just nodded, and they had then remembered together what had happened in the convent a while ago. Camille had mentioned that she had not been aware that Dwayne and Sister Marguerite had been such good friends. "Oh, we had not been in touch for quite a while," the nun had replied. "It's only been since we literally bumped into each other again on that occasion that we have kept in contact. Dwayne visits fairly regularly once a fortnight now and repairs little things that we cannot fix ourselves. And sometimes we just sit and talk a little."

Sister Marguerite's voice had been completely serene and composed. Camille had looked at her and dared to ask "Sister Marguerite, would you mind me asking…" "Oh, no, not at all, Camille… I suppose you wonder why I joined the convent and if I sometimes miss my old life…" Camille had nodded shyly. It seemed like such a personal question, and she was not used to seeing nuns as 'normal' human beings. The revelations during that investigations had been surprising and eye-opening, to say the least.

She had waited for Sister Marguerite to continue, and finally the nun had begun to tell her how she and Dwayne had been friends and hung out together, then her parents had died in an accident, and "it was like the ground had been pulled away from under my feet, you know. I asked myself all sorts of questions, and I felt insecure and groundless. My friends could not compensate for that, and while I'm sure that Dwayne and the others did their best – they could not give me what I needed at that time… security and a structured life. I did a lot of soul searching, and I went to church a lot to find answers. Eventually, I joined the convent, and I have never ever regretted it."

Camille had listened in silence and nodded in understanding. Then she had asked "And now? Do you think you would have been happy… with Dwayne?"

"Oh, Camille, I don't know, and there's no point in dwelling on it. We are different people now, and the way things are, we just are happy that we can be good friends again. I still love him as a good friend, and I know that he has a soft spot for me – that's it. Could you imagine he'd lead a settled life with a wife?" She had smiled. "No, me neither! He would not want to give up any single bit of his current life, and I'm not going to leave the convent. So, we are friends, I'm happy that he spends time with me – that's a generous gift, and I really, really appreciate and value it - and I know that he enjoys being with me and helping out when he can. There is no pressure, no sense of entitlement between the two of us, we just enjoy the friendship without further expectations. You know, Camille, there are many different ways of loving someone, and they're all good as long as you love."

"Love…" Camille had said it thoughtfully. She sometimes wondered… it sounded like everybody saw something different in it. But could you really define it in a universal way?

Sister Marguerite had looked at her intently. "With love, life makes sense. Without it, it's sad and empty. No matter whom you love and whether it's the love between friends, siblings, parents and children, or between lovers – or man and wife - in the end, it just matters that you love with kindness and patience. That you let people be who they are and still love them with all their quirks, faults, and peculiarities – that you're forgiving, and that you remember you're not perfect, either. What is 'perfect', anyway? Oh, and you've got to love, respect and forgive yourself, too, so you can love others, that's another important thing. Not in a selfish way, but I guess that goes without saying… As long as we love, we're alive. And we're rich. I do not believe that there is one universal recipe book on how we 'should' live our life, but this is the one rule I live by, and I think it's fairly universal. Shocking for a nun, I know. I should tell you about the Bible being 'the' universal recipe book in every way, I suppose. However, I think this essential rule is the vital element of it, anyway, so… Well, obviously, different people see things differently, but I believe that love is the answer in many of our struggles." Sister Marguerite had looked at her and asked softly "Did that answer your questions?" Camille had nodded and swallowed hard – there had been a lump in her throat as she had listened to Sister Marguerite's gentle voice.

This conversation had helped her to feel calmer and more balanced again. She had realised that the frenzy she had worked herself into was mostly caused by the fact that she wasn't in control. She had never liked to just sit around and wait for things to happen, and it had driven her batty that Richard hadn't sent clearer signals regarding his feelings towards her – and it had made her feel like he had just left her hanging. But then again, his lack of communication when it came to personal things was part of his character. Maybe he wasn't sure about what he really felt. Maybe it scared him (after all, the intensity of her feelings also scared her! She already knew that he could be passionate about cases, astronomy, history and books – she suspected that he could feel strongly about people as well… but people could be fickle and unpredictable, so it might feel safer for him to stick to "things" instead?). Maybe he had feelings for her, but just couldn't fathom what her reaction would be. He had sometimes reacted to her attempts to flirt with him, but who knew what he really thought about it? He hated emotional scenes, and he surely wouldn't want to make a fool of himself. Maybe he had been hurt before and that had made him overly cautious? Whatever it was - he was not trying to be enigmatic so he could manipulate her – she knew that much. On top of all the doubts he might have, an additional aspect was simply that he was very reserved, private and undemonstrative, for whatever reason - that was part of his personality.

And honestly, wasn't it his personality that she found so fascinating, along with lots of other traits? He was kind, funny and brilliant, among other things. He had a great sense of humour – although it had taken her a while to get it. Every once in a while, their different cultural backgrounds made it difficult to understand each other. Right… he was also quite annoying, childish and pedantic, that was not quite so fascinating, but it was part of who he was. And Camille realised that she didn't want him any other way. Obviously, she wasn't perfect, either – admittedly, he was right: she was sometimes illogical, quick-tempered and presumptuous, and that could be challenging. But she also was empathic, intuitive, loyal and understanding, and she hoped that he'd find that side of her personality attractive. Not to mention that she hoped he'd still find her stunning…

Thinking of the look in his eyes on that evening of the Erzulie festival brought butterflies to her stomach. She had always liked his eyes, but the way he had looked at her as they had talked on the patio - that had made her knees go weak for a moment. For a moment, she had imagined… and her imagination had run away with her. And the night at the meteorological lab – she had known he wouldn't make a move, but how she wished it had been different…

Kindness and patience, indeed. And maybe a swift kick up the backside every once in a while. She was willing to try and do her best. It would be difficult enough sometimes – but she was sure it would also be absolutely worth it.

The look in her eyes became even more tender, and her smile widened when she looked at Richard, who was now trying to stifle a yawn. The poor man, he had been on a plane for hours – and the jetlag surely was taking its toll now. Time to take him home… And Harry undoubtedly was ready for his meal, too!

* * *

 **Notes:** Sister Marguerite is referring to 1 Corinthians 13:4-8 in the Bible.


	10. Schemes and Wardrobe Ponderings

Chapter 10

Schemes and Wardrobe Ponderings

Richard was touched and slightly embarrassed by his team's efforts to make him feel welcome. The way they began to ask him about London and wanted to tell him about what had happened during his absence, the way Catherine hurried to bring out the tea set, the way they had decorated the bar for him – that was a clear sign that he had been missed. And the way Camille smiled and looked at him… that made him feel all light-headed.

He noticed that she looked absolutely breathtaking in this new dress – well, new to him, he hadn't seen it on her before. Not that he kept a record of her clothes, but he did notice what she wore. Granted, on some days it was extremely hard not to notice… her attire was quite 'remarkable' every once in a while. This dress was a light cherry red – or a very dark shade of orange? He wasn't entirely sure about the colour, but it looked fabulous on her. The bodice was shaped like a camisole – with spaghetti straps that brought out her wonderful smooth shoulders – and it opened into a full skirt that was just about kneelength. Lovely - and very feminine. She was always beautiful, but tonight, she was spectacular, he thought. He wasn't aware of it, but his eyes betrayed him… at least to any observer who cared to look a bit more closely… Camille didn't seem to notice – and he was relieved. He didn't want to get caught ogling her!

He managed not to stare openly and distracted himself by going off on one of his well-known rants about his lost luggage. Honestly, he was livid – was he born under some unlucky star, was that why he always lost his suitcases on the flights to Saint Marie? Did some supernatural power enjoy the obvious inconvenience that this all caused him? He found this all just so frustrating – and would have been ready to tear his hair out if he had had a bit more of that on his head. The way it was, all he could do was rant about it – and he did that for a little while until he felt safe enough to sit back and look around. He remarked on the decorations – and said a sincere "thank you", although he was still a little uncomfortable that they were fussing over him.

It was nice to be back, and he loved seeing everyone again, despite the feeling that it was almost as if he was sitting in a sauna – fully dressed, obviously. In all honesty, the heat and humidity had hit him like a brick wall as soon as he had left the airport building, but at least this time he was prepared. The Commissioner had greeted him and made commiserating noises as he complained about his luggage getting lost once again, but Richard had had a feeling that it didn't really interest him and he just pretended to listen. It irked him, particularly since he had just had a bit of a showdown with HR so he could return to Saint Marie. He almost regretted his successful attempt to push them for a decision in his favour – but well, only almost. He forced himself to come back down to earth and stop complaining. It wouldn't help if he talked himself into a rage.

During the drive to Honoré, they had discussed the results of his negotiations with HR. The Commissioner was pleased to have him back, but not entirely happy with the extra conditions that Richard had hammered out. However, he had understood that Richard was keen on having some security and wanted to be able to make plans – and change them, if circumstances changed, although what precisely these "circumstances" could be, was left in the dark. The Inspector didn't want to discuss this, and for now, the Commissioner didn't insist. The way things had been handled so far hadn't been all that gratifying from Richard's point of view, and Selwyn Patterson had to admit that for someone his age and at the stage of life he was in the situation had been less than optimal.

The conversation then had turned to the mishap of the lost luggage, and the Commissioner suggested he get a few lightweight suits to add to his wardrobe over the weekend so he'd have something comfortable to wear in case his luggage didn't turn up quickly. He had added "And even if it shows up fairly swiftly, Inspector – it won't hurt to have an alternative to your woollen suits. You must feel very hot in them."

Richard reluctantly had to agree with this. Granted, he didn't like changes, he liked his suits, he felt safe when he wore them, and it nearly felt like he was admitting defeat after all that time, but he figured that after he had finally made the decision to come back and take a chance, he might as well surrender altogether – he'd be staying for a while, so why not have it comfortable as long as it lasted…

So, he had taken out his notebook and jotted down the addresses that the Commissioner recommended. He had decided that right after a good night's rest, he'd make an effort on the very next day and go clothes shopping… That was something he did not enjoy in the least as it could mean having to try on piles of clothing, particularly since sizes might differ from what he was used to in the UK – but he hoped to get it done and over with fairly quickly by applying his regular method – he usually tried on a few things, found one or two that he liked and then bought the same item in several universal colours. He had acquired a capsule wardrobe of matching suits and dress shirts by applying this system, and the same went for socks and underwear. Once he had settled for a brand and a style, he tended to just buy the same things over and over – that worked well for him! Ties, however, were different – those were fun and easy to buy, and he liked to experiment a bit with those – not going to extremes, and the colours shouldn't be blazing, but he enjoyed different patterns. He just picked them from a rack, and that was it! He knew only too well that he would never stun people with his looks, and he certainly wasn't vain, but he wanted to be dressed correctly and look civilised.

As he listened to his team filling him in on the happenings of the past week (apparently, it had been rather uneventful, apart from the burglary that turned out to be false alarm – he had obviously not missed much and was glad that there hadn't been any murders… not only because it was good to know that nobody had died! It sounded awful, but he would have hated _not being_ around _to_ help _solve_ the puzzle), he noticed Fidel's shirt and made a mental note of remembering to get some short-sleeved shirts and maybe a couple of polos as well. That wasn't something he'd wear for work, but it would be good to have informal clothes like that for the evenings in the shack.

Fidel went on to describe a minor accident on the main crossing that had caused havoc. While he was listening to the young officer and trying to process what he said, Richard's eyes fell on Dwayne's casual yellow shirt, and he thanked fate that the older officer had chosen a rather modest piece of clothing today. At least this one didn't make his eyes bleed for a change, and it did look airy and comfortable – and it would be something different again. Food for thought. He might get something similar for himself some time. Not in this bright colour, but there would surely be other colours and patterns available as well.

Maybe even Camille would approve. Surely she'd notice the change, and perhaps that would help and she'd see him with different eyes. Or would it be too obvious - so she'd see right through it and know that he was making efforts to earn her acknowledgement? Would she laugh at him? He stole a glance at Camille who was smiling at him – and looked away again quickly. His ears began to burn – how on earth did she do that? He hoped that nobody had noticed how flustered he was all of a sudden.

Richard began to shift in his chair and took another sip of tea as he tried to follow the conversation again – without any luck. His mind began to wander off again – to his lost luggage, his dressing habits and the forthcoming shopping.

He never really had worn comfortable clothing during his time on Saint Marie. Back in the UK, he often had worn sweat pants and a T-shirt or a fleece jacket in the evenings after his "after run shower", as he liked to call it (sounded a bit like "after work party", he thought!) – there was no point in getting back into his suit or even a pair of jeans (yes, he had some of those!) after exercising and before going to bed. It was too hot for sweat pants and fleece jackets on Saint Marie, though, and he didn't like wearing shorts all that much, so he didn't really have any casual things to wear. Over the past two years, Richard had taken off his jacket and just rolled up his sleeves at home, and for cooking, he usually put on an apron (he didn't mind looking a bit silly – nobody saw him, anyway – except for Harry, maybe, whom he trusted couldn't care less - and he preferred that over getting shocking stains on his good clothes… he already carried buckets of money to the drycleaners', anyway) but admittedly, it still had sometimes been rather uncomfortable and hot.

The pyjamas were better, but not very appropriate, especially if people were coming around. Camille had caught him in his sleeping attire several times when she came to pick him up in the mornings, and while he hadn't been particularly happy with that as he felt it wasn't appropriate – not to mention that he had been slightly uncomfortable with how her eyes had danced at this sight (he had never quite found out if she thought it funny or pitiful, and he didn't want to ask – since he wasn't sure he would like the answer, he preferred not knowing!) – he had chosen not to make a big deal of it. He just had tried to be ready in time after it had happened several times.

But once the Commissioner had come to see him about an aspect of a case – fortunately, he had given him a call before in order to find out if he was at home. So there had just been enough time to get into more presentable clothing. With Camille it was one thing, but he really did not want the Commissioner to see him in his striped nightwear. Polos and short sleeved shirts would solve this issue charmingly. And maybe some jeans again – no, jeans were too warm. Chinos. Yes, chinos would be better. Or plain slacks? Not very imaginative, but they'd be useful, and maybe he would not feel so hot anymore…

Alison was right – it really was pointless to do the same thing over and over again and expect different results. Wait, it had been Einstein who said that, or hadn't he? Richard realised that he hadn't paid attention to what Fidel or anybody else had said for a few minutes – his mind had been wandering. Einstein and clothes, of all the things in the world, really. That only showed how tired he was.

The Commissioner had left after the first drink had been finished, and Catherine was looking after her customers – she had stopped by their table every once in a while to add something to the conversation, but the bar had become busy, and she just couldn't sit around idly. So, it was just Fidel, Dwayne and Camille sitting with him after some time.

A gigantic yawn came over Richard, and he tried to hide it, but Camille had been watching him – for how long he did not know – and now asked kindly "Would you like me to take you to your house? It's been a long flight, and you look tired." Richard thought for a moment she was implying he looked old – but there was no mockery in her voice, so he just nodded and smiled apologetically. "I'm really sorry" he said "but I'm really a little done in now. It's amazing how you don't actually do anything during a flight, yet it wipes you out."

The boys got the hint and said their goodbyes: Dwayne just saluted and sauntered off to the other side of the bar, drink in hand and a big smile on his face. He had seen a few of his buddies and wanted to find out which club they'd be going to this evening – it was Friday, after all! Fidel shook Richard's hand and said he'd be happy to see him again on Monday – Richard did not fail to insert an affable "with your new stripes, of course" at this point (which brought him an approving smile from Camille) – but for now he wanted to go home to Juliet and baby Rosie.

Richard got up, yawned again and stretched his body. Oh, it would be so good to lie down and fall asleep to the sound of the waves! They walked to the Defender, and Camille said over her shoulder "It's also time for Harry's dinner now – I bet he'll be happy to have you back, too."

* * *

 **Notes:** If this appears to be a little disjointed – it's supposed to reflect the fact that Richard is tired and finds it hard to focus.


	11. Revelations and Surprises

Chapter 11

Revelations and Surprises

They were driving the familiar route to Richard's shack. Camille was more nervous than she cared to admit – she hoped he'd like the surprise she had prepared for him. The welcome party at La Kaz had been a team thing, but she had wanted something more personal… Now she wasn't so sure anymore that it had been a good idea, but well – she'd find out.

As they were riding along in silence, she remembered all the times she had driven here to pick him up. During the first few months she had been reluctant, and it had only been a chore. This changed gradually, and over the past months, she had actually been looking forward to their commute to work. It wasn't a long ride, but it was long enough to talk a little. They had had some enlightening conversations about cases. Of course, they had also had arguments. But it never got boring. Since she had started working with Richard, there had never been a really dull day on the job – although it didn't provide the same kind of excitement like undercover work.

Richard was an amazing detective, and she had learnt to respect him fairly quickly –she only didn't want to admit it at first, not even to herself. Over time, she began to like him – although she didn't always understand him. When precisely she had fallen in love with him she really couldn't pinpoint. It seemed that before she knew it, she was already there – knee-deep in it. It hadn't happened head over heels, that much was sure. Oh, how he had driven her up the walls at first! And little by little, the traits that had annoyed her to no end for a long time didn't count so much anymore – his qualities outweighed his irritating features. He still was the most annoying man on the planet – but for whatever reason, he was just what she wanted. She had worked that out during the week of his absence. The intensity of her feelings for him scared her a little – it had been a long time since she had felt so strongly about someone.

"So, how was London?" she finally asked. "I mean, I know it was cold and rainy – but what else? Did you get together with your parents? Wasn't it nice to see them again?" She took a quick sideways glance at him and noticed how his face clouded. Hmm. That hadn't been the best question to ask, obviously. She expected him to give her an evasive answer, but much to her surprise he didn't – instead he looked down on his hands that were resting on his thighs and said matter-of-factly "Oh, it was pretty much the same as usual. My mother – ah, she just keeps fussing about me. It can be a little suffocating. And I can't help but wish she'd done that some odd 30 years ago instead of now that I'm an adult. She doesn't know me as a person, if that makes sense. Of course, I know that people always look at their offspring as 'children' who have to be mothered, if you know what I mean, but well, it all remains on the surface. And then… She asks the same general things over and over – and basically, you get the impression that as long as you wear your woollen underwear, carry an umbrella with you and cover up your ears when it gets too windy, all is well in your life."

Camille couldn't suppress a smile. "And are you wearing your woollen underwear?" she teased. He pursed his lips, and for a moment she half-expected that he'd retort something that could be interpreted as frivolous (he sometimes said the most surprising things, after all… she remembered how she had asked him about his 'date' with a book once and he had given her an unexpectedly suggestive answer) – but then he just huffed at her and replied lightly "Wouldn't you just love to know that, Detective Sergeant!"

Before she could squeeze in another remark, he went on: "And as far as my father is concerned… You know, I told you before I hadn't had a real conversation with him in more than 20 years, and it hasn't changed this time." He looked down on his hands. "It's kind of depressing. I really tried to have an open mind this time when I visited them – our recent conversation, you know, while we were… er… stuck in the meteorological lab, made me wonder if I had perhaps not asked the right questions or talked about things that interested him. Mum and he both have said fairly often that they hardly know anything important about my life, but as I started telling them about Saint Marie and my work and all that, they clearly didn't want to hear it. Or so it seemed to me. Mum interrupted me constantly and asked things that were completely unrelated to what I had just mentioned, and Dad went away in the middle of it all to look after the plants in his shed. You know, I think it's fairly hopeless. They live their lives, and I live mine, and there's no common ground anymore – if there ever was – apart from the fact that we are genetically connected. And even that seems doubtful sometimes. It's like "Matilda", you know, Roald Dahl's book. They're not horrible like that, but it's like they cannot understand we're related as I haven't turned out the way they had expected. I feel like an alien with them sometimes." He now stared glumly out of the window. His dejection was palpable.

Without thinking, she took her right hand off the steering wheel and placed it on his. "I'm so sorry" she said softly. He didn't push it away, but squeezed her fingers lightly before reminding her to keep both of her hands on the wheel and her eyes on the road.

After a few minutes of silence, Camille tentatively took up the conversation again. "And what else did you do? Did you visit any museums or see exhibits?" His face lit up and he began to give her a rambling description of the places he had gone to. "And then, of course, it just was nice to walk around. I had really missed London, you know. It's such a special city. So much to do and so much to see."

"Has it changed a lot during your absence?" she asked.

"Well, London will always be London… but of course, some things are different now. New buildings, new shops, new restaurants… all that. It just happens, you know."

"Oh, yes, I know what you mean. When I was in Paris again last year – you remember, that was around the time when you had the case with the diver, when you fell ill with the fever, and that DS from the UK stepped in – I realised that it had changed quite a bit since my training. And yet again, the atmosphere remained the same, and it was still Paris!"

"Do you ever miss Paris?" he asked. "In your daily life, I mean?" Camille pondered the question. Did she miss Paris? Oh yes, sometimes she did…

"Paris is wonderful, and yes, I miss it sometimes. Not painfully so, and not on a daily basis. There are certain small things that I loved – things like walking along the Seine, croissants and baguettes from my favourite bakery, going to the cinema with friends… I miss all that, there's nothing like that over here. Well, we do have croissants and baguette, obviously, but it's not so much the bakery goods themselves but the atmosphere of the place where I bought them. And I miss being able to go and see a play in the theatre, to go to an exhibit or a museum when the mood strikes me – that kind of thing. There's just not so much of that around here. I also miss some of the people there. But I also have friends here, and I have Maman, and I can do other things here, like watersports, or bush hiking. I missed that when I was in Paris! And of course, life is more relaxed here, there's less pressure, and I like that, too. You know, there are good sides to both places, and I prefer enjoying those instead of dwelling on what I could have at the other place."

He had never asked about her time in Paris before – it was almost strange to talk about it now. He never had shown any interest, and she certainly hadn't said much about it to him over the past two years. Now, it seemed like he wanted to know more – which was actually really nice – and maybe get to know her from a different angle and understand how she had developed into the person that she was now. She sensed that it was more than general chit-chat. His stay in London after his long absence had apparently opened his eyes to the fact that she, too, had had a different life before her undercover work had brought her back to Saint Marie. And it had been an interesting life in so many respects…

"Careful. There's a pot – ouch! Really, Camille, one would think you'd be familiar with the road by now so you could avoid the potholes!" he complained with a scowl.

"Um. Sorry – I was thinking about something else" she apologised and continued "I'm sorry about your suitcase, Richard – that makes you wonder about bad karma, doesn't it?"

"It would if I believed in the concept. I don't, however, so to me it seems more like a conspiracy. I just cannot get my head around who would conspire against me like that. After all, nobody wins if I have to walk around in the same suit for who knows how long." He groaned and rolled his eyes. Camille laughed sympathetically.

The look on his face changed, and he glanced at her hesitantly. "Actually…" he began – but then lost his courage again. "Actually – what?" she asked back. It was as if he was nervous – Camille felt self-conscious all of a sudden and wondered what would come next.

"Erm, you know, Camille… the Commissioner has given me a few addresses of places for shopping – um, clothes shopping, that is… lightweight stuff, apparently… Do you think – ah... Would you mind very much – erm…"

He obviously struggled with his tongue-tiedness, but she smiled at him and said happily "Are you asking me to go shopping with you? Actually, I'd like that very much, Richard!" "Would you? Oh – ah – thank you!" He seemed baffled – and relieved. She rested her elbow on the frame of the open car window and said gleefully "I know a couple of nice shops, too – maybe we can get a few bargains! How about getting some colourful shorts?" She grinned at the horrified look on his face and added "Instead of the woollen underwear, I mean!" He began to say something, but in the next moment, he cried out "Ouch! Camille, really, could you just pay a little more attention, please?" She had hit a small rock on her way down to his shack, and the Rover had jolted a little. Fortunately, they were there now, so she hit the brake and shut off the engine.

As they got off the car, she reached behind the front seat and took out a cooler. Noticing his inquiring look, she explained "I bought some basic supplies for you so you'll survive until you can go grocery shopping again. It's no fun coming back to an empty fridge. Well – as it is, you are indeed returning to an empty fridge, but I'm filling it up for you right away, so there's no hurry for you to hit the shops first thing tomorrow morning! It's nothing spectacular, but it should get you through the weekend."

The approached the shack, and Camille pointed at Harry's water dish. "See, I have kept my promise! I put out water for Harry regularly, and I gave him his mango-and-bugs mix as well. I fed him yesterday evening, so it's time again." She looked around, but no sign of Harry so far. She went on: "He's usually fairly punctual – I hope he hasn't gone into a sulk because dinner is a little later today. Do you want me to feed him for you, or do you want to do it yourself?" She smiled as she saw that he was keen to see the lizard again. "Oh, and I hope you'll see that I have taken good care of your place!" she added. "I've even swept out the loathsome sand a couple of times, just to please you!"

He shot her a disgruntled look, unlocked the door and went inside. As Camille followed him, her nervousness returned – oh dear, what an assortment of mixed emotions she had gone through already since his return. What would come next? Only a few more minutes, and he'd see his surprise – what would he say? Would he notice at all? After all, he was a man – and men didn't always notice little things. Although, all in all it was several little things. Surely he couldn't overlook that? And what would his reaction be? Had she gone too far? Had she messed up?

She turned to the kitchen counter, and for a brief moment she closed her eyes so she could focus again. Then she opened the fridge and put the food inside in an unhurried manner as he dropped his briefcase and went to the bathroom to wash his hands. She heard water splashing, then he came back, towel in hand, with a bewildered look on his face.

"Um, Camille, I think… Did you bring… this towel here – it's not mine, as far as I know!" She peeked around the fridge door. "Well, it is now…" she responded. "Do you mean…?" He turned to look back into the bathroom and suddenly saw that there were several sets of new towels in different sizes on the shelf, all of the best quality, thick and cozy, and in nice colours as he liked them – dark blue, tan, burgundy red, hunter green… He returned to the kitchenette. Camille couldn't help but smile when she saw his face – he seemed incredulous, mystified and pleased all at the same time. Good grief, if a couple of towels already made him so happy, what would he say about the other things?

"Erm, thank you, Camille – that's a lovely surprise. How did you… oh, I know. The towels that were here were – uh - a bit threadbare, weren't they… I had never bothered to replace them." He seemed a little ashamed.

Camille said softly "Yes, they were. I couldn't imagine you'd find them very comfy. And I thought that maybe you'd be less grumpy if you had nice cozy towels to look forward to after your morning shower." Then she nodded in the direction of the main room and said "There's more. I hope you'll like it." He rushed over - Harry and his dinner seemed forgotten.

His excitement was endearing. All his weariness after the long flight seemed to fall off as he looked at the new coverlet on the bed – one of the upper corners was neatly folded to the middle so it looked like a triangle, and he cold see that there were new sheets as well. Several small cushions that obviously had no other purpose but adorn the arrangement rounded it all off. Camille wasn't all that gifted when it came to domestic affairs, but she had put a lot of effort into this so it would look inviting – and maybe, just maybe, it would inspire him a little. She had vowed to be kind and patient – but there was more to the love she felt for him, and she just wanted to give him a little nudge. A clear sign that he could not mistake for anything else…

He also found her card. Well, that wasn't much of a feat since it was placed right on the pillow. Camille busied herself with re-arranging the tea tins on his kitchen shelf, but watched him from the corner of her eye. He opened the card, read it and smiled bashfully. She hadn't chosen an overly suggestive card, and what she had written inside was not exactly a straightforward confession of her feelings, but she had trusted his power of deduction to come to the appropriate conclusion. And she had signed with her name and a series of 'X's and O's' – he'd know what that meant.

Obviously all this along with the fact that she had supplied him with new towels and bed linen was enough to set off his imagination. "Still waters run deep", she thought with a little smile as she saw the expression on his face change. He bit his lip and ran a hand through his hair. It almost appeared like he was trying to summon up the resolve and courage to do something he was scared of.

She noticed that he looked up - right in her direction. Their eyes met very briefly. Suddenly shy again, she looked away, turned her back on him and wiped some invisible crumbs off the counter. She heard his steps as he was moving closer to her again, could feel him standing behind her now, his hands were hovering over her shoulders, and his nervousness was tangible.

"Camille…" His voice was soft and a tiny little bit hoarse. She waited – it was his turn now. He cleared his throat and tried again: "Thank you, Camille. I've never said it, have I?" He paused. "I'm just not very good at these things… I mean… Thank you for everything you've done for me, that is, not only for this, but... well, I guess I'm thanking you for being here and for being you... and maybe we… erm… You shouldn't… oh, Camille, you are so special to me, but I didn't think… um… are you…" There was a moment of silence, then he took a deep breath and continued "I mean, are you sure about what you wrote in the card?"

She took pity now and turned around – what else could she do? It certainly wasn't an eloquent speech, but it clearly came straight from his heart, and knowing him, she understood how difficult it was for him to make this move. She looked up from under her lashes, invitingly. His hands finally settled on her shoulders, and he looked into her eyes. His thumbs were beginning to draw small semi circles on her skin – it seemed like he didn't even notice what he was doing. She was very aware of it, though, and it made her heart beat faster… She tried a smile and tilted her head to one side, still waiting, trying to look more encouraging. Surely, now he would… wouldn't he?

And then he kissed her. A little diffidently and with restraint at first, as if he wasn't sure of her response and wanted to leave her a chance to back out if she wanted to. But that changed quickly – her enthusiastic reaction showed him clearly how much she wanted him, and his increasing confidence took her by surprise. Her head was whirling as his kiss got deeper and more demanding, his lips were teasing hers apart, she felt his tongue in her mouth, his muscles under her hands, his hands sliding down her back and then stroking her flanks. She trembled slightly in his arms, sensed the little sway as he pulled her closer still… and for a moment, she wondered – it had been quite a while for her, after all… and then there was nothing but him.

The doubts, questions, frustrations and worries of the past months dissolved, and all that remained was the love, the hunger, and the desire. She felt how he lifted her up and carried her to the bed… Shirt, dress, belt, trousers, underwear – they all got into the way, piece after piece was discarded - and before too long, the new sheets were put to good use...

* * *

 **Notes:** The book that Richard refers to is "Matilda" by Roald Dahl. There's a movie version which isn't all that bad, but I absolutely recommend the book – Roald Dahl is just so funny.


	12. What it boils down to

Chapter 12

What it boils down to…

It was around midnight. Ah, it really had felt good to lie down in his bed, Richard mused. Although it hadn't been quite what he had planned, he was more than happy with the outcome. Initially, as he had left La Kaz, he had only wanted to sleep.

However, things had developed in an entirely different direction. Funny what an impact cozy towels and crisp new sheets could have… but of course it wasn't the material things that had brought the difference. It was that Camille had given him an unequivocal sign that she cared about him, wanted him to be comfortable, and – most important – that she wanted to share his world.

He turned his head to look at the woman snuggled up to him. Her unruly tight curls tickled him gently, and he was very aware of her soft and silken skin, the scent that surrounded her, and her hand on his chest. She looked so relaxed and innocent as she lay there by his side… He heard her sigh in her sleep, and his heart skipped a beat. He had been so anxious about touching her initially – but the way she had looked at him could not be misunderstood…

That had marked the point of no return – and he had finally, finally found the courage to kiss her. Her reaction had blown him away – he hadn't expected her to be so… excited. Her lips had been soft and pliable under his, they had willingly parted as he got more confident, and she had pressed her body against his. He remembered how she had moaned with delight when he had held her in his arms, then picked her up and carried her to the bed… nothing had counted anymore as their clothing miraculously fell off, and he had caressed and explored her body. The feeling of her skin against his, the touch of her gentle hands and her lips on his body, her enthusiastic reactions to his tenderness – she had made it all so easy for him. He had been nervous as it had been a while for him and he felt he might be a little out of practice… but that was forgotten very quickly as they had fallen into a vortex of passion together.

With so much tension bottled up over an extended period of time, it hadn't lasted as long as Richard would have liked, but fortunately, Camille had been more than ready for him, and a quick release had been what she wanted and needed, too. She had encouraged him with words and actions, her euphoric response to his movements culminated in a series of incoherent cries. In this blissful moment he realised that she was tipping over the edge so he didn't hold back any longer – and as he was calling her name with a gasp, colourful stars seemed to explode and sparkle through his closed eyelids. Never before had it been like that for him.

They had both held on to each other for a while afterwards to come back to earth together, then they had fallen asleep in each other's arms, spent and exhausted. It had been an emotionally taxing week for both of them so now that all had come to a climax this evening, they needed a break together.

Given the fact that his body was still on British time – more or less – he had welcomed the sleep, but then woken up again after a few hours. He thought about the past week and wondered what he had ever agonized about. It had all fallen into place for him now. He sighed contently. All his hopes had not only been fulfilled, but exceeded, the doubts had disappeared in no time.

Camille stirred and lifted her head. "Hey there…" She let her hand slide over his chest. "Are you as happy as I am?" she asked softly. Richard gazed into her eyes - his tender smile was response enough. "What are you thinking about?" was her next question.

His smile widened, and he said "Other than the obvious 'this was amazing, and I hope it will happen again soon', you mean? You don't want to know. It's terribly unromantic!"

Obviously, that only piqued her curiosity, and she insisted on him telling her.

"Right, if you absolutely want to know… I was thinking about Ealing," he said. "Ealing? What's Ealing?" she demanded, confused now.

"Ealing, my love, is a part of London. West London, actually. Ealing Film Studios, you know." "No, I don't, but if you say so, okay… and what's that got to do with you and me?"

"Nothing, really, at least not anymore…" he replied incoherently. Camille clearly was more and more puzzled at his cryptic replies, so he pulled himself together. He explained "They actually offered me a job there. Not at the film studios, mind you. In the police department, obviously."

Camille just stared at him for a moment. Before she could say anything, he elaborated further. "I turned it down. Didn't appeal to me at all." "Richard, are you telling me that you were given a choice and actually chose Saint Marie over London?" she asked. "Well… yes, at least for the next two years." he responded. Camille propped herself up on her elbow and demanded sternly "Now, seriously… Richard Poole, will you please explain yourself in clear words so I understand what's going on!"

He sat up, looked at her and sighed. "Right, I'm making a hash of this, huh… I'm sorry. So, here you go… Before I left for London, the Commissioner told me that HR wanted to talk to me, so I should make an appointment. I had planned to contact them, anyway – I wanted to discuss something with them and make a suggestion. The fact that they wanted me to get in touch, though, didn't bode well – I felt they were about to make a suggestion that I might not like – and I had my own agenda at that time already."

He explained about the series of three month extensions over the past year that had made it so hard for him to settle in more. "You know, it was as if I was constantly on call. If they had wanted to do so, they could have assigned me to any other place, just at a few weeks' notice. It kind of paralysed me, and I did not want that any longer. I could not make plans, neither here nor there – you know I have a house in Croydon, and it's about time I decide what to do with it, and… and there were other things."

He took her hand into his, sighed again and said "I was hoping that you and I… would…ah, you know, I had realised that I was having… um… very strong and rather… erm, unprofessional feelings for you, for a long time already, and I had been beginning to hope that you… well, maybe, returned those feelings. Or would do so, given some time. With those three month arrangements, I could not – I mean, say, we had become closer, and – bang! – the Met decided it was time for me to leave… that was just such an awful prospect. So, I wanted to stay here – but at the same time, if things didn't work out between us… what would I do? I would have been stuck here, seeing you every day and having to live with the disappointment and frustration… I was pretty sure I didn't want to take that risk, either."

Camille smiled tenderly and asked "Silly you… didn't you feel that I have been in love with you for a long time already?" His eyes met hers, and his voice faltered as he responded "Er… obviously not… I was hopeful that you liked me, and maybe something more could come out of it, but really, how was I supposed to know? It might have been wishful thinking, for all I know, and nothing more. I'm not really great at these things. Reading signs and body language, all that. I mean, you're friendly with people in general, and although I felt that you… um… didn't hate me, I couldn't fathom if your affection went beyond that. You know, Camille, women are a mystery to me! They say and do the funniest things, and I'm at a loss with their behaviour at least half of the time." She couldn't help but chuckle about this confession, but didn't go any further into the topic.

"So, you had that appointment with the Met," she reiterated. "What happened? They offered you a job in – what's the name? Ealing? Really, Richard… that sounds slimy. Like eels. But whatever. And you turned it down? What did they offer you instead then? You said something about two years?"

"Right. I told them I didn't want to go to Ealing. It's a nice enough place and all, but no, I didn't want it. I couldn't bear the idea of leaving, no matter how much the climate gets to me. I also thought of the team and how many different DIs have been here already – and what a challenge for a team it is to have to deal with someone new over and over again. I knew that they would transfer some other poor sod to Saint Marie – maybe someone who had turned out to be just as unpopular at their current department as I had been in Croydon, or even worse… you know, we didn't have a stellar start together, but I hope it's not vain to say that – erm – I have adjusted better in the meantime, and we all get along fairly well now and form a great team. It would have felt like I was betraying everyone here if I had accepted a transfer at this point."

The look on her face spoke volumes. He continued "Not to mention that things could have turned very ugly with the Commissioner not wanting to let me go. Tug of war and all that. Very uncomfortable. I'm aware of how he tricked me into staying here, and again, it might sound – ah - vain, but I know that he doesn't want me to go back to the UK. You know, HR was under the impression that I absolutely and under all circumstances wanted to leave Saint Marie, that was why they offered me Ealing. Ealing needs a DI, and I was the first person they offered it to. I think I've rattled them a bit with my continuous complaints, and they were seriously miffed to find out that I didn't want Ealing now that they had moved heaven and earth in order to please me – well, they hadn't, really, the position just happened to open as someone retired, but they made a song and a dance when I turned it down. They didn't realise it was not so much the place anymore, but more the insecurity of the arrangement that bothered me. Seems they never read the last e-mails I wrote them – they were not about wanting to leave but about having more security in the assignment. They thought I'd jump at the chance to leave the Caribbean, but I really didn't want to go through all the pain of trying to find my feet at yet another place again at this point, not to mention that I certainly didn't want to leave the team, and - more importantly - you. I'm not good with change to begin with, but this time, I have really good reasons, not only that I don't want to get used to new routines."

Camille waited patiently for him to come round with his rambling explanation. He realised he was waffling and tried to pull himself together. He stroked her hand and continued: "On that matter – provided that you won't change your mind…" Her curls bobbed as she shook her head vehemently, and he went on "I'm sure being… er… in a relationship will be an adjustment in itself, so it's not that I won't have to adapt to new things. I also think we will have to separate our personal life from our work relationship, but that should all go well – we're both professional enough, I reckon. And as long as we behave in a decent manner and don't do anything outrageously shocking, I don't think it should be a problem… But in any event… well, I wasn't sure how you'd feel about this all, so I settled for a compromise. I thought a clearly set time frame would give us a fair chance, you know, I could perhaps convince you that I'm – um - not such a stuffy moron after all, and if I ever mustered up the courage to ask you out, we could go ahead, spend time together and get to know each other better, and maybe it would work out the way I hoped. Obviously, I didn't imagine that you and I… I mean, it all went faster now than I could ever dare to dream, but well, I'm sure that having time to get adjusted and sort things out and all that is good, isn't it? – So I suggested they'd make the assignment here semi-permanent for two more years - with an option to make it permanent for good after that time or go to another place. No more three month prolongations, but two solid years in one chunk. And well, they agreed. Seemed rather relieved in the end, actually, that they won't have to shuffle things around in a while."

"So, we have two years until a new decision is on the agenda. And then what?"

"Then we'll see. I think that two years gives us enough time to get used to one another, wouldn't you agree?"

She didn't say anything, but he figured her reaction could be taken as an affirmative. "After that, we can make up our minds and find out where we'll wan to go from there. Maybe we'll want to stay, maybe we'll want to start over at another place – who knows? I mean – we don't have to plan our whole life at this point. Let's see what comes our way. And maybe it will be a good idea to take on a new challenge and move on together after two years."

He looked into her face, trying to find reassurance in her eyes. It was a huge step for him to let go of the predictability he had been following most of his life, and she seemed to understand. Her lips curved in a tender smile, she nodded and said "As long as we're together, all will be good."

That was what he needed to hear. He drew her towards him and held her tight - and for a while the conversation stopped… This time, their lovemaking was slow and unhurried – albeit no less passionate than the first time. Richard had never ever imagined it could be so magical. It felt like they were out of this world together, and Camille's happy sighs indicated that she felt the same way. They took their time, and now that the tension was gone, they could really savour being together.

When it was over, Camille whispered "Tell me, Richard – why didn't we do all this months ago already? We have wasted so much time…" "Fear of falling and landing hard, I suppose. But all's well that ends well – although I prefer to see this as the beginning and not the ending!" He kissed her again, and they lay still for a while.

But some time later, Richard's stomach began to growl unromantically, and he realised that he hadn't had any decent food in a while. The same applied to Harry - as they remembered with feelings of guilt. He hadn't showed up so far – maybe he had given up completely? They cut up a mango for him and put it on his dish, then they had a rather belated midnight snack in bed.

"How thoughtful of you to bring cheese and biscuits! And wine! What a feast!" Richard polished off a large piece of cheese and took a sip of red wine to round off the pleasure. Camille clearly was delighted with his praise and smiled smugly. He knew she was particularly pleased that he had liked the French cheese she had chosen… He had a feeling that he'd get to know and learn to appreciate more French food in the future.

As Richard got up and took the plates back to the sink in the twilight, he almost fell over his briefcase – it was sitting somewhere on the kitchen floor where he had dropped it to go and wash his hands. The clasp gave in as it fell over – he had already noticed during the flight that it wasn't quite in top condition anymore – and his "emergency kit" (an extra set of perfectly folded underwear, neatly wrapped in a little plastic bag – after his miserable experiences with the Gods of the Airlines and Luggage Carousels, he had decided that this could be a good idea) had slipped out, along with Alison's package.

He swore under his breath as he hit his toe badly, then picked both the underwear and the package up from the floor. The underwear was placed on the wicker chair (he didn't intend to put it on any time soon), but he turned the package around as he held it in his hands and decided it was about time he'd see what Alison had given him.

Camille apparently wasn't too impressed to find out that he had received a gift from another woman, but he silenced her with kisses (which turned out to be a very effective and pleasant way to quiet her down, he found), then explained that Alison was his cousin and that he had seen her while he had been to London. "And she has promised to send an invitation to her wedding in the summer, so you'll get to know her then," he assured her.

Curiously he opened the gift. As he had half expected, it was a book, but when he saw the cover and the title, he couldn't help but laugh out loud. Camille had never heard him laugh like that and found this reaction to be so extraordinary that she wanted to see what was going on. She tried to snatch the book from him, but without success.

"So, what is it?" she demanded. He sat beside her, opened the thin picture book and started to read aloud to her: "Prince Cinders was not much of a prince. He was small, spotty, scruffy and skinny." They laughed their way through the book, and as he put it on his nightstand afterwards, Richard said – still laughing – "And what it boils down to is that you might be small, spotty, skinny and scruffy, but if you lose your trousers at the right time and in the right place, you can still win the beautiful princess!"

With that, he took her in his arms again and whispered "I have been living by the wrong book all the time, so it seems – I should have given up on suits and smart trousers long ago!" Camille nuzzled his neck and said softly "Never mind other peoples' books. We will write our own book from now on!"

* * *

 **Notes:** The book is 'Prince Cinders' by Babette Cole, first published in the late 1980s. Priceless fairy-tale-with-a-difference, and the illustrations are hilarious. If you don't know it, have a look at it! It's also available as an "audio book" on Youtube – someone reads it to you, and you can look at the pictures as well. Takes about 5 minutes only!


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